I am a girl or woman in her early twenties and I was at a loss about what to do with my life. I forgot what it was that I wanted. I forgot all that I was doing.

But I do a lot, really. I write-- I have since I was two. That is not a lie, nor is it an exaggeration. It is a proud truth. I learned to write stories. And poems. And songs. And now blogs. I also study music, and English. I run for my body to be healthier; I meditate for my mind to be calmer; I dress for the world to think well of me; I read for my brain to be satisfied. But I also watch shows to be a little numb, sometimes. (Arguably, too many times.)

So I want to write. That is the common denominator. I want to write about everything. Life and thought; fashion and style; art and music; books and films; food and drinks; places and experiences. I always want too much. I want everything. In my country of origin, they'd say I take 'too much hay onto my fork'. And then I try to move the fork into my mouth and at least half of the hay twirls to the ground before it reaches my lips. It is frustrating, but I am learning to take smaller bites. Blog-sized bites, maybe, could work.

What else defines me? I have an American father, a Dutch mother, a sister nicely mixed like me, a 'special someone', an indie band I sing in, some dreams and opinions. I like goodconversations, about more than 'how one is'. I teach myself things I feel I should know-- history, politics, philosophy, culture. I cannot give you a more specific definition of my mind than this: I am an existential hedonist fascinated by Buddha and the Tao, but also by Coco Chanel, Marilyn Monroe, Japan, Parisians, Epicurus and Virginia Woolf. And so, so much more. I want everything. I want to write everything.

My name is Fannah, by the way.