Wit’s End Symphony: Minds Unveiled

In the enchanting realm where thoughts took flight, picture a narrative unfolding—an epic tale of Minds Unveiled. As the sun dipped below the horizon, societal twilight, like a fleeting mist, attempted to cloak the brilliance of these bold and bright minds. Yet, it couldn’t quell their might, for within the dance of freedom, a compelling story emerged, reaching towering heights.

Imagine a caged bird’s song, a call so resilient that it echoed through the corridors of time. Maya’s triumph, breaking through the thrall, reverberated like the triumphant crescendo in a symphony. In the echoes of her melody, Mary embarked on a courageous journey, leaving an indelible mark—a trailblazer’s path adorned with the vibrant hues of displayed courage.

Grunya, with a gaze as pioneering as the first light of dawn, illuminated minds in the gentle night. Her profound observations became the brushstrokes on the canvas of diversity, a celebration echoing across the expanse of thought.

Each mind, a chapter waiting to be unfurled, played a note in the grand symphony within the playground of ideas. Taylor Swift’s words, a comforting rhyme, became the guiding thread, weaving through the passage of time, uniting these tales in a harmonious chorus.

Trials faced and choices made became the rising crescendo, a symphony of resilience where courage flowed like a river. Melanie’s wisdom echoed through the ages—a cherished poster, weathered by time but eternally relevant. “You never fail until you stop trying.” This mantra adorned the mindscape, a beacon urging these tales to keep striving, to persist through changing paths, and to never surrender the pursuit of their dreams.

Picture them navigating stars, breaking through the tapestry of the night—a shared lore, a collective might, a story told with the finesse of a gifted storyteller, infused with the eternal wisdom to never cease trying.

My Kindergarten Book Publishing Party

Surrounded by a cacophony of adult voices during the kindergarten book publishing celebration, my book about dreams remained tucked away in obscurity. It seemed the world had more pressing matters to discuss that day. However, during the editing process, my English teacher, the embodiment of properness, took a moment to acknowledge my dedication, which hadn’t been to myself. Her worldly knowledge, including the fine art of beans on toast, left an impression, despite my aversion to the bean’s texture and her occasional soggy toast. Her words etched into my young mind the enduring kindness of dedicating one’s dreams to others.

It would take exactly twenty years since then for me to understand the paradox that in doing so, I would have to be unkind to myself.

I wanted to be a portrait painter and artist. I still do.