I started writing about trees and clouds since my childhood. I have been always passionate about words; to put things into words simplifying them in my own capacity but may be just in my case. However, that’s how i always felt about my writings. I believed in my writings as simplified versions of all complexities that i observed in all beauty in its entirety. By the time i was in Junior school i had taken keen interest into writing poems about girls and composing epistles for my friends; it still brings joy in my heart. Feelings were significant; sometimes laid myself down on the ground and contemplate about all the majestic things i could write about; mountains, valleys, moon, sun and the earth. nonetheless, i always described about my dog or either cows at school. I never read my true writings in the school which i truly regret now. i can’t still exactly tell what held me back. It still does hold me back. Deep inside i am afraid to tell the world how i feel; opening up myself kills me. You might reckon it’s because of guilt or remorse but it isn’t. It is something monstrous without proper name or description. May be this will remain as a part of me until i dare to uncover it. despite all these insecurities, literature has always attracted me. Scribbling things down has been one of my most observable traits. Literature has always been so close to my heart. I have been wanting to immerse myself into the vast sea of the world literature. transforming myself into an established humanist has been always my dream. Besides my keen interest in writing i have been always a reader which explains for my interest in becoming a humanist.