I’m a writer…but…

A few days ago, my mother came home with a bump on her head. I asked her what happened. She said she got into a slight accident at work.

My mother works very hard at a factory. So does my father.

They were born in Vietnam (both of them) and went through great pains to get here, the land of the free and, in my opinion, the greatest place on earth (Canada).

They work hard everyday to ensure that we can grow up with a full education and make something out of our lives. They hired tutors, took our education seriously.

And now I’m a writer…with a blog…

…sometimes I wonder why I did it. Why, after all this…why did my parents give birth to a child who can not be a doctor, lawyer, businessman, accountant, or something of the sort. Why?

…I don’t ask why I’m a writer. I write because I’m good at it. It’s the only thing I can really do that I’m good at. I sometimes wonder, though, If there’s a God with a plan out there.


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