INT. letter to the past.

i often ask myself... why did i choose to be a writer?

then as i start reflecting,

i start to feel it in my bones.

the only response i find myself coming up with is...

... it has to be my purpose.

every story i've written: i've poured a piece of my heart into it and sealed it with a

"the end."

it makes me think.

people tend to let their bad experiences shape their identities. but one of the many superpowers of a human being is to take that delicate experience and turn it into strength.

for me?

words are my strength.

words are my best friends.

words are my first love.

and if i could go back in time, the words i'd say...

to my 6-year-old self, who discovered he had a voice — > i do this for you.

to my 9-year-old self, who wrote on a bench during recess — > i do this for you.

to my 11-year-old self, who felt he carried the world on his shoulders, alone...

— > i do this for you.

to my 14-year-old self, who had to write in private to avoid derision and find

solace in an all-white school — > i do this for you.

to my 18-year-old self, who discovered what heartbreak truly felt like  

— > i do this for you.

to my 20-year-old self, who was told he was "a horrible writer"

— > i (really) do this for you.

to my 21-year-old self, who trained and buried himself in the craft day and night

to thwart that — > (NIGGA) I STAY doing this for you.

to my 23-year-old self, who gambled on his dream and had it ripped from his

hands — > i will forever do this for you.

to my 24-year-old self, who is writing this right now (and tired from the gym)

with a tear in his eye — > i am proud of you.

but the one thing i wish i could say to all of them is...

"it's all going to work out."

and it's not up to you to decide when.

it's up to him.

thank you, god, for giving me this passion and drive.

and most importantly, my heart.

\\ + thank you for allowing me to love words

—and be a fine a** nerd.

kamodjia.

tuesday. 6.17.25

11:32 p.m.