"Who are you?" That's a question which has always had the potential to make me nervous. Who am I? Am I the name I bear which everyone else used to call me since the day I was born? Am I a figure, a picture with all my skin and bone and flesh? Am I what I do, my profession, my hobbies? Am I all this turbulent thoughts struggling to come out inside this head of mine?
I prefer to describe myself this way. I am what I read. I am Jane Eyre, I am Elizabeth Bennet, and I am Catherine Earnshaw.. I am Portia, I am Juliet, and I am Ophelia.. I am the music streaming from my violin.. I am the words I write.. I am the little acts of kindness I do every day.. I am my flaws, my break downs and all my mistakes.. I am many things but my name...
