When I was younger, school felt like a heavy burden. My teacher often complained that I was dull, and my handwriting was so terrible it embarrassed me. My parents, worried, got me a home lesson teacher. She would sit by me patiently, guiding my hand and saying, “Write something, no matter how small.”
At first, every word looked like a struggle. I wanted to give up, but she wouldn’t let me. Day by day, my crooked lines began to form clearer letters. Slowly, writing became less of a punishment and more of a doorway.
Years later, I look back and smile. The same child once called “dull” now writes stories, ideas, and reflections with pride. Write something was not just an instruction, it became the key that unlocked my voice.
Thank you for reading
@ritaetim
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