She had a universal key and she came whenever she wanted. And before I knew it, she owned me.

I didn't mind when she first entered. She was so sweet, so soothing, like ice-cold water on a blistering summer day. But slowly, almost imperceptibly, she began to change.

I don't know, can't remember how I met her. Or why I talked to her. I guess that voice within me whisperedshe's the one. She was meant for you. She can teach you your own secrets. She can introduce you toyourself. And so we met and pledged to explore each other.

I stopped calling my friends and soon, couldn't make time even for my family.

And her power, her petrifying power, continued to spread like bacteria in early-stage growth: slowly but exponentially.

A minute became an hour; an hour, two; two became four; and four, eight. And then, she stormed my apartment and tied me up, from dawn to near dawn, for twenty straight hours. Bound my hands, my feet. Until my raging head convulsed violently, in waves and after waves, like the ground during a brutal earthquake.

I begged her for release, for sleep. But she wouldn't hear of it. NO! No release! Once you start, you must finish! Only a few more months!

Then the truth approached my ear and bellowed: STOP HER! YOU CAN DISMISS HER WITH A WORD! And I knew I could. But I didn't. She wastoo important. I had to tell her the stories inside my heart.

Stories of my abesha people. My invisible people. My refugee people. Their courage has too long been ignored in this country.

I had to tell her of my brother Tewolde. He's gone now. But before departing, he conquered first-world giants using those most ancient of weapons: "hope, faith, and the greatest of these, is love."

I had to tell her of my supermother, Tsege. And my father Haileab, and his yearnings for a greatness he already had.

And then, at the bittersweet end, she had to learn of my own adventures and misadventures. Of stolen parking meters and long sought-after scholarships. Of bottomless, lonely valleys and towering mountaintops.

So I told her and now I am done and she has released me. She is my book.

I wrote her because our story, the story of abesha refugees in the United States, is important. I wrote her because the stories of those who inspired me should not be mine alone. I wrote her because

I had to.

Selamawi Asgedom is author of the newly released Of Beetles and Angels: A True Story of the American Dream.