I Read Therefore I Am Mga Nobela at Kwento

Matthew's POV I’m good for nothing. The thought didn’t just pass through my mind—it echoed, ricocheting off every corner of my skull like a relentless curse I couldn’t shut out. It thundered louder than any voice in the room, more piercing than any insult a stranger could hurl at me. Because these weren’t someone else’s words. They were mine. They came from somewhere deep and cruel inside me, and what made it worse was that I believed them. Fully. Completely. Unflinchingly.

"I’m not you, and I’m not them." Once again, images begin to flash in front of me—memories of when I would honestly find myself thinking these things. But then, when I truly thought about it, I would realize that everything they said and everything I thought because of their words were wrong. "I am my own person, and my past or my blood relations don’t define me." "What?" my grandmother hisses, her eyes growing wide. "What did you say?" "I said," I repeat, settling on one solid thought. "I am not my parents, and I am the one who chooses my path."

The woman slammed her walking stick ones on the ground, bringing complete silence. “Pe mito mba’éichapa jaju, oguereko heta versión iñambuéva, ha katu pe añeteguavéva ha’e ñande jajejapo hague ñañorairõ haĝua peteĩ mba’evai ndive, pe mba’evai tuichavéva - añakuéra. Mávapa ñandeapo, ha’e pe ja’éva lobo sy. ha katu añetehápe ha’e pe tekove voi ñanemoheñóiva ñañorairõ haĝua ñemano ndive, ha katu ko’áĝa pe ñemano oguejyta ko yvy ape ári voi oipe’a haĝua opa tekove ha ha’e ñande profecía ñañorairõ haĝua lobo sy ndive peteĩ última vez.” The lady spoke.

I am who I am before I was who I am I am the only one to know who I am before anyone can know who I am I am the only one with the voice of who I am because no one can hear the voice I possess I am a Shadow. I have achieved what no man has ever achieved in his lifetime even before the beginning of civilization I have been to the Moon before the story of a virgin's birth was heard in the world of mankind I have owned the whole world and made Mansa Musa call himself a poor man I am a Thief. I have reached a point where I no longer desire anything because I have everything I have reached a point where I can no longer move anymore because I moved everywhere I have became a pain to my flesh and a

Kamari's Point of View 'It is a new day. A new start. Just keep your head down. Take in a deep breath. You got this. You can do this.' The mantra repeated itself in my mind. Over and over again like a broken record. Each word gained more emphasis than the first. As if I could beat it into me. Make my body believe it to be true.

According to each letter, one sentence was made - I- FIRST LETTER AM- SECOND LETTER COMING- THIRD LETTER FOR- FOURTH LETTER YOU- FIFTH LETTER Theodore took these from me and when he understood what the letters meant, he clenched his jaw in anger. "What the fuck is this? Who the fuck sent you these?" Theodore hissed.

The connection between the story and what I was trying to say made sense when I started it, but somewhere in the middle of it the thread got away from me and now I am just talking because the sound of my own voice is the only thing keeping me present in the room. "And the point is," I say, "the point is that I have always known exactly what I was made of. Every piece of it. I took an inventory very early and I never had to do it again because nothing changed." I pause. Something about that sentence does not land the way I meant it to. I try again. "What I mean is. You are the only person who ever made me want to take the inventory again. To check. To make sure it was still all there."

I am not broken". Emma and I said at the same time. "AhaHhaaahaaa" that witch laughed and then said," If both of you aren't broken than who is the one which is broken. Is it me? Denying the reality doesn't change it but it'll make you feel better". Emma and I looked at each other and then again to that witch. She continued," One is trying to fight with none other than himself and the other is trying to fight her destiny. Oh, it's so interesting. But remember that the fight with your own self is the harder one. Tell me. Why are you both here?"

I didn’t want them to see me like this. A wreck. Weak. Nothing. A shell of an empty person. “I am enough”. I kept repeating in a whisper. “I am enough.”

Back when I thought I could write my way out of trauma. I turned to the last blank page and wrote: I am not what he did to me. I am not what I lost. I am not broken—I am in progress. And that’s enough for now.