We Must Share Our Stories

I used to believe that they would be safe as long as I kept my stories safe in my head. Safe from the world's eyes, from judgment, and from slipping through my fingers and being quickly forgotten. But it was different; stories are not treasures you unearth and hide underground, hoping no one will find and steal them. They are akin to birds – if you don't let them out, they will die, their song erased. When I was younger, I clung to my stories like honeybees locked in jars, their humming perpetual and their light flickering. I would use them to pass the time, to keep myself warm in winter's chill, but I'd never set them free. And in time, I would take them for granted. And they would slip through my fingers. Little by little, the stories would escape, and their colors would dim. The world became dull, the seasons unchanging, and the adventure was less thrilling. Eventually, the stories turned into distant memories. I realized that stories, like the sun, need to shine in the lives of others for them to be as brilliant as they could be. Collect and keep them to yourself; their warmth will eventually run out. This was my mistake and my lesson.

I see now that the terrified me was my most authentic self. My stories felt like a part of my soul, and I was horrified that I would let them die with me. That my music would crumble into a wisp of what might have been. I had to change, so I picked up a pencil and started writing. It was awkward at first, my hands shaking and my words fumbling over each other like dancing children. But the more I wrote, the simpler it got. The stories I had thought were gone came back to life. They were breathing once more, fresh and vivid. Writing it down, I understood, was not just about keeping them alive. It was about giving them wings. My stories could fly beyond me now. They could reside in people's hearts, spawning new thoughts, dreams, and stories. It was like replanting my stories in a vast garden. I'm unsure what would blossom, but I hope it would be lovely. Stories, I realized, are meant to learn from not just about knights and castles but about life. They were there to tell us how to be friendly, bold, and stand for what's good. Stories linked us to one another. They showed me that we are all kindred spirits. We all love and laugh and hurt and dream. Stories knit us together. They make our earth a little cozier and kinder. So I propose to you: Do not conceal your music away. Write them down, transmit them, and let them reside. It's unnecessary if you're not an excellent writer or think no one would ever be interested. It's not about being the finest; it's about talking. Your stories matter since they're part of you, and you have no notion if they'll make a difference in someone's existence. The act of sharing your stories is a powerful act of liberation and empowerment, for both you and your audience.

And so I write. I write to remember, to share, and to connect. I write now, I know. After all, stories should not be kept in the shadows; they should sparkle for all to see for as long as possible. Even when I am no longer here, when I have taken flight, my stories will endure. It's a kind of magic, I believe. That's why this will always be the case. I will never truly disappear – I will always be another story that lingers in this world. And that, my friends, is a beautiful thing.