This is the part where most people write everything about them. This is where they write who are they, real or unreal, imaginary or not. This is where they count the years when they had been so alive; inhaling, exhaling, sleeping, waking. This is where they tell what they are, to them and to others. This is also where words form a blurred image of the person who wrote them (words, I mean). But for me, this is a place where I am free to be who I am, real or unreal, imaginary or not. I am no mysterious person; I just don鈥檛 want to describe myself. I have a name, yes, and I am alive; I just refuse to count all those years when I am, or was, really alive.
My name is Jarod Ortega and I am who
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