I once wanted to be a journalist just to have my dream gone on my first attempt to enter the most important University in Sao Paulo. But anyway, who told me I needed to become a journalist in order to be a writer, if I were already a storyteller since childhood? The day of my inscription for the exam (which for me meant almost to reach the same score as if I was to enter to the University of Medicine, almost like applying to be a doctor) a man who took care of the contenders, once he saw my choice for studies, said out loud, "One more liar in the world!" So much for an incentive to just leave it all behind. If I were to write I would write about the thruth, even if it was a fiction, it would be a fiction about the truth. I never stopped with my dream of being a writer, actually I never stopped being one, and what other people would say about to get me out of track, on the contrary, that would be enough reason for me to keep typing. That's how the introduction from this book by Paulo Coelho (see below) ressonates deep into my soul, when he says that when he thought he had given up his dream, life would sweep off the rug under his foot and get him back to what he most deeply wanted in his life: To be a writer. Don't you just hate when fate plays out its part and just press you against all the odds until you finally give up and see that it was all right?
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