Writing as the art of liberation

I love to write. Always have. I can even rmember the first real story I wrote when I was about seven years old, a fantasy tale about a warrior girl trying to save a princess from an evil sorcerer. Yet, I've always been shy about my work, afraid of judgement, or that others will read between the lines of what I have written and see my deep, dark secrets laid bare. Writing here is liberating. I don't know you, the reader. And you don't know me. It's like sharing secrets with a stranger, and I like it. While I was at university a few years ago, I became friends with a graffitti artist who let me in on a few of the secrets of his "trade". I found it fascinating. Once I recognised his "tag", I began to see traces of him all over town. Places you couldn't possibly omagine he could reach; amazing pieces of art which probably took no longer than five minutes for fer of being caught. It was like a new form of ninjutsu: he could be walking past a blank wall, and like magic, his tag would appear in his wake, perfectly formed; an assasination of blank canvas in the blink of an eye. Inevitably, I began to experiment with the medium in my own ways: not merely a "tag", my expressions were crude poetical scribes in a distinctive script, often accompanied by the image of a kunoichi. I saw my scribes travelling around town on buses, or being read my students around campus, And while many did not last long under the watchful eyes of caretakers and cleaners, there was one which stayed put for some six months, written on an A6 sticker which I'd placed on a bin next to the student cafe. I like to think that it stayed because it was meaningful, that it was enjoyed. After all, the bin was cleaned daily, and other graffitti was quickly removed from the spot. And secretly, I was proud. No-one knew that I was the author, not even my graffitist friend.