From a very early age, I knew that when I grew up I should be a writer. I grew up with this dream. But somewhere along the way, I totally abandoned the idea. To be exact, between the ages of seventeen and twenty-five. I don’t know if it was the civil war itself that made me put my dream on hold or my outrage at having my life turn upside down as a result of the war. All I can remember now is how frustrated I felt all the time knowing I was living and acting against my true nature and that I had to find my way back and settle down with my dream. This was only made possible when I left my country, leaving the war behind.
I was the eldest of three children and the only girl in the family. So when I was left alone to play I developed a habit of making up stories and holding conversations with people in my head. And as I grew older I developed a love for words and perfect sentences and paragraphs that helped me through difficult situations. They sort of gave me the power to imagine myself out of situations. And I believe by doing this I created a sort of a private world in which I could make up for my failure in everyday friendships and life.
I didn’t produce a big volume of writing when I was younger. Apart from my schoolwork I wrote for the school yearbook in two different languages. I wrote a poem one time which got me second place in a school competition. Whenever asked to write I produced a piece quickly.
But throughout my entire life, even to this day, I have been engaged in an entirely different kind of literary activity. I am always writing a story about myself, but only in my mind. I am constantly the heroine of some kind of misfortune or injustice. In my stories I am able to come out triumphant. In my stories justice always prevails. This world, the made-up world that I create for myself makes me susceptible to all kinds of misery. I have become somewhat blind to the problems of the real world and choose to escape by isolating myself and submerging myself more and more into my world. And in my world nothing can touch me or hurt me.
To this day when I find myself facing a catastrophic situation, the first thing I do after panicking is to stop and for a tiny bit of a moment, close my eyes and in my mind, try to write myself out of the situation.