I am far from becoming famous

27 years ago, I met J in a church. Does the church that connected us still exist? I cannot find it on Google.

The church was in Flushing, Queens, and most of the 25 worshipers were deacons from Argentina including the pastor. Only J and me are not deacons.

J and I left the church, avoiding the priest’s offer to be a deacon. But we have been in a good relationship until now. She retired from the laundry business. She was too busy when she was in the laundry business to read my articles properly. I e-mailed her my blog address to read.

I received her e-mail saying, “Throughout the reading your story, your articles have all kind of criticism, wits and appreciation of your own love and freedom which leads to a quiet panorama of your surroundings and at some point it ends up being unable to say anything. Wow! Cool.” Somehow the number of my bloggers has suddenly increased from a few days ago. I was exited. But the increase in number of reading my blog was due to her continuing reading. 

When I start writing the first time on newspaper I kept think about should I write with anxiety? Or not? At that time, a woman who was writing in the newspaper longer than me did say, "writing is not written like you white." I heard the sound of it, I feel like I hit my head against the wall and I could not say anything. "Why do you write your own story in the newspaper? Stop writing.” I heard a bitterly other voice of the person belonging to the literary society. I fell like I was falling on the floor. One of my most beloved friends got drunk and she said, "Your writing is childish." I fell like collapsed and the drink broke up with the feeling of wandering the floor.

I dare not have the courage to ask them, 'What's wrong with my writing?' I act like I did not hear because of being drunk and I am getting along well with my friend.

I avoid the other two from afar so as not to bump into each other at the meeting. I am afraid that I will lose my will to write well without giving up even the barely manage to write.

I wrote this article in support of J who reads and encourages my writing. The praise makes the whale dance, I myself shut my ears to bitter words and write for praise. Don’t I want to write an article something that smelly of a damp person in the rainy season other than the obvious story that comes out of Google?