My friend once told me that the worst punishment any one could ever give to me is to cut off both my hands and legs, and my tongue too. That way i ll not be able to tell stories; But he does not know that my being alive alone is a story. Even in death, i ll still continue my story-telling.
When ever i try to speak, well mostly when i try to answer questions, i try to be guileless, because when the world and everything turns against me, my Honesty is the only weapon that bears my DNA i could use. The only weapon i could use.
My words needs no disguise, no hat, no cloth, no jewelry or shoes. Does it need flattery? Of cos not. I send them all out raw, innocent and naked just like the way i was born. I believe that means I'm veracious.