Novel & Cerita About Life Story

"You never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory." I believe that behind every person, there is a story. A story that makes them who they are. The story may be hidden or on display to the world. A story about his/her fight; a story about how she survived. A story of her fight in silence.

But, people often forget or they just avoid it, they are scared to accept the fact. Undeniably, I am an old man, who is living his life carelessly, drinking the whole day and telling you the tales of the world where I didn't live but witnessed what people and what their stories existed there. The more you go with the words, the more you see it is complex, typical to understand as it's not just about one person, one group, or one nation… No, it's more than just one world also. Everything is magic in the Ard, but from where it flows?

For years, Timothee thought that everyone was the main character of their own lives. That even when things seemed boring from time to time, every single person in the world would always have stories to tell about their lives. After all, writers tend to only write the parts in a story that were interesting. No one wanted to read about the mundane parts of the character’s life in detail. And that was when she realized that it was just like her case as well. A lot of things had happened. Good and bad things. Maybe she was in a story as well? That was a thought that would always make her smile.

“Of course, there will be, everyone will have their own afterlife. So don't worry guys." Eric lovingly hugged the two children's faces and kissed them, making them laugh happily. Henry saw that this person of his life was a bit thoughtful, although not in the same historical process, but had his own incarnation, it was a bit surprising and curious. “Tomorrow morning you will be in the newspaper, the successful businessman has a baby, and the famous actor who follows will surely say that Alan is the child of this actress. And so the drama broke out. He will be hit, and then a man who looks exactly like him will find him to solve this problem.

she replied. She thought about how stories usually ended with closure, with certainty, with answers. But life, she now understood, didn’t end that way. It softened. It widened. It turned into living. And so the story didn’t conclude. It simply continued quietly, honestly, without urgency. Exactly as it was meant to.

Layla's P. O. V. My father always said that life is what you make of it. What you mould of it. It's your own story to tell and you're the one writing it, moulding it, until it fits the way you want. I'm writing my own story now. My life is my own manuscript, a composition of thoughts, wishes, and fears, all shaped into thoughts until I'm content with what I'd brought into my mind. Sometimes those thoughts reshape on their own, though. Sometimes, the story I'm composing finds its own rhythm. Just like tonight.

Another tough question. “Well, um… I feel like it’s personal preference, but truth be told, every writer has, at least once in their lifetime, written at least one story that has significant references or connections to their own life. I won’t lie, I have, too. In fact one of my stories are based entirely on my early life.” I answered truthfully, as best as I could. “You mean… it’s an exact copy? Truly your life story?” Asked another.

We both opted for water against any sort of soda drink. After lunch, we took a long stroll down the beach. He told me stories of how he came to Lagos and how he started his business. He asked about my family and if I was dating. "No sir, I am single for now," I said suddenly I was conscious of myself. "Why not." He asked "I haven't met who I love," I replied wishing he would stop with the personal questions. "Hmmm..hope there is no underlying reason for it." He said and looked at me

Be sensible. Every word carried a commanding tone. He clearly believed I would react the same way I always had—no matter how he mocked or humiliated my feelings, I'd eventually crawl back, apologizing just to stay by his side. Not this time. I gave a small shrug and tossed the phone straight into the trash can—along with the pathetic life I'd once lived. There was nothing left in this town to miss. My gambling father died years ago. I'd sold the house, and now, with my mother healthy again, we were heading overseas to start anew.

I admitted. “Good. Because we have a proposition.” She put down the towel. “The school is doing a ‘Life Stories’ unit next semester. Not from a history book, but from real people. LJ and I were wondering… would you consider coming to talk to the seniors? Not about the foundation or the trials or any of that. Just… about change. About how a person can live a dozen different lives in one lifetime.” I stared at her, the soapy glass in my hand forgotten. “Talk to a bunch of teenagers? About my life? They’d be asleep in five minutes.”