I believe I am a difficult subject. I think my complexity encompasses Accounting. For one, I do not have postulates or standards that define the very nature of my actions. I act often on impulse and most of the time, I act when stressed. But that too, I realized is mundane.

But like any other body of knowledge-as to this is the basis of how I will state my story, I, too, have a history. A narrative of how this ordinary being became this crumpled piece of awesome mess.

Of course, everyone begins with birth and mine was at dawn on the 15th of November 1992. I'm an illegitimate child. Fatherless. My mother raised me well, too well, I think despite many adversities.

I do not think that I am intelligent but I'd like to say that I am well-rounded (modesty aside). Definitely not plump but well-rounded in the sense that I know a bit of a lot of things though not necessarily an expert on these things.

I am a frustrated writer. I'd like to make world-changing essays but I usually blabber about personal stuff-petty stuff. But I do have an ambition of becoming part of Oprah's book club and to possess the patience to write that bestseller.

I'm creative (again forgive the egocentricity) and I often wonder why I didn't venture into an art related course. I'm practical and I'm gutless. I also have a bloated ego.

I'd like to believe that I'm as complex as stoichiology or as mysterious as alchemy, but just like all of you, I'm ordinary.

I'm ordinary.