My journey as a writer officially began on January 22, 1996, as indicated by my very first diary entry. A pink, floral, hardcover lock-and-key journal with two grey cats lovingly staring at me. At the age of 9, I begged my mother to buy me a diary. It continues to be one of my most prized possessions and not because of what's written inside. In hindsight, it was all jibber-jabber coming out of fourth-grader who wanted a “guy for Valentine” and a “Period book” from the nurse’s office. This diary has been alive for 25 years. This diary proves that writing has been my calling all along. This diary is a living testament that, as ridiculous as my thoughts and words were for a 9-year-old, they were words nonetheless. Words that were important to me. Words that mattered. Words that begged to be recorded on paper. I come before the page today to publicly accept my calling. Because I am certain this is what I was created to do and I can no longer ignore the call. This is my rebirth and I invite you all to this momentous celebration.