{
  "version": 3,
  "sources": ["ssg:https://framerusercontent.com/modules/vlGTguFFg54zsGu6Nc00/AGESmNERYpTqWPaUoBuh/KaWnFmVFE.js"],
  "sourcesContent": ["import { jsx as _jsx, jsxs as _jsxs } from \"react/jsx-runtime\";\nimport { addPropertyControls, ControlType, Link } from \"framer\";\nimport * as React from \"react\"; /**\n                                * @framerRecordIdKey id\n                                * @framerSlug L9PPYB9hc\n                                * @framerData\n                                */\nconst data = [{\n  asZcBjh4Z: \"Artifact\",\n  HbEdysqdb: /*#__PURE__*/_jsxs(React.Fragment, {\n    children: [/*#__PURE__*/_jsxs(\"p\", {\n      children: [\"I can't be the only one who's experienced this.\", /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), \"Every time my mom is on the phone with a family member or friend, she passes the phone in excitement for me to say hello. It doesn't matter if I'm in a bad mood, preoccupied w/ another task, or say no 1,000 times.\", /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), \"I must answer the phone. \", /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), \"And boy, does it drive my anxiety up the roof. Especially as an introvert.\"]\n    }), /*#__PURE__*/_jsxs(\"p\", {\n      children: [\"The first time I remember her passing the phone to me was when I was a boy, no older than 4-5 years old then. I was speaking to a man on the phone who had a thick New York accent, a soul full of gold, and a way with words. His name was Arthur N. Sixty - the first person who told me I could do anything I put my mind to.\", /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), \"These words at first glance are self-explanatory. Just like poetry though, they have a way of hitting when you least expect them to.\", /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), \"Uncle Sixty, as my mom instructed me to call him, was a longtime family friend of ours. Before I was born he rented a room from my grandfather's brownstone in Bushwick right in Brooklyn, NY. During that time my mom, aunts and uncles all became acquainted with his presence. He was an incredible poet from New Orleans that commanded respect with the way he spoke. He even took a picture with then-president Richard Nixon, rubbing shoulders together and the whole 9. Uncle Sixty was like the relative that called up every, I mean every single holiday. The man didn't skip a beat, and on top of that would send my sister and I fresh outfits to wear for special occasions like Easter Sunday, our first day of school while in elementary, and even send over the highly sought after Natures Blessing that my mom swears by.\", /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {\n        className: \"trailing-break\"\n      })]\n    }), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"img\", {\n      alt: \"To this day it's a staple in her house lol. (thanks mom for sending this so they know it's real!)\",\n      className: \"framer-image\",\n      \"data-framer-asset\": \"data:framer/asset-reference,2CSHHBOkShT9jracqatA6BqlLDk.gif?preferredSize=medium\",\n      \"data-framer-height\": \"1280\",\n      \"data-framer-width\": \"960\",\n      height: \"640\",\n      src: new URL(\"https://framerusercontent.com/images/2CSHHBOkShT9jracqatA6BqlLDk.gif?scale-down-to=1024\").href,\n      style: {\n        aspectRatio: \"960 / 1280\"\n      },\n      width: \"480\"\n    }), /*#__PURE__*/_jsxs(\"p\", {\n      children: [/*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"em\", {\n        children: \"To this day it's a staple in her house lol (thanks mom for sending the pic so they know it's real!).\"\n      }), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), \"Uncle Sixty was also an author of a book titled Black Poetic History. It's a book full of poetry - not the one full of rhyming, dreaminess and flowery words, but words that evoke hope, concern, and acknowledgement for African Americans and Black people. He wrote about Marcus Garvey's leadership to Frederick Douglass's struggle and progress. He rapped about each of Kwanzaa's seven days to Nat Turners slave rebellion on the plantation. He sung of Haiti's liberation (My mom's side is Haitian, most likely why everyone loved him so much lol) and of the inventiveness behind Black Enghlish, way before it was labeled by scholars as AAVE or Ebonics.\", /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), \"All of this came from a Black man who sought the truth, completed his education after the 5th grade, and taught himself how to read and write while seeking for a higher understanding of life outside of institutionalized systems. Uncle Sixty did not come to play around at all.\", /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), \"One day, while reading a card written for me, I questioned his handwriting. It was slanted, fuzzy, and looked like some kind of shorthand calligraphy. My mom told me he suffered from a stroke leaving parts of his body paralyzed, so his writing had a way of stuttering on paper.\", /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), \"Yet that didn't stop him.\", /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), \"My mom told me of papers and notes he used to have all around his room, and when I got older, this time to bring the book to class for show and tell, she told me she wrote the manuscript for him by transcribing all of his notes. All on an old fashioned typewriter all the way back in 1997 - a whole year before I was born. How dope is that!\"]\n    }), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"img\", {\n      alt: \"\",\n      className: \"framer-image\",\n      \"data-framer-asset\": \"data:framer/asset-reference,Oa98yf4tDzclNRMdXyVLZSWtB9c.jpg?preferredSize=medium\",\n      \"data-framer-height\": \"4032\",\n      \"data-framer-width\": \"3024\",\n      height: \"2016\",\n      src: new URL(\"https://framerusercontent.com/images/Oa98yf4tDzclNRMdXyVLZSWtB9c.jpg?scale-down-to=1024\").href,\n      style: {\n        aspectRatio: \"3024 / 4032\"\n      },\n      width: \"1512\"\n    }), /*#__PURE__*/_jsxs(\"p\", {\n      children: [/*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), \"Uncle Sixty passed away when I was in middle school, a year after my maternal grandfather passed away, and my mom arranged his funeral service by herself. She brought together Sixty's remaining family members and friends to give him a proper send off. In his book, Uncle Sixty commends my mother for her patience and hard work to get the book published. He even states that it could not have been done without her. Gon' head mom! \uD83D\uDCAA\uD83C\uDFFE.\", /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), \"At times I can't help but I feel like I've inherited a piece of his spirit. Uncle Sixty had a goal to enlighten others about the other half of American History which was African American History, the latter not being taught in schools, not being as widely available before the advent and popularity of Google, and not being credited enough as Black labor built America's early infrastructure for nearly 250 years without pay. There's more to go, but alas I'd hate to spoil the messages inside his magnum opus.\", /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), \"I too love writing poetry, love writing as a tool for self-expression, and have a deep desire to help others explore the other half of the world existing on the opposite side of our comfort zone.\", /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), \"Uncle Sixty's book reminds me of Naruto Uzumaki reading The Tale of the Gutsy Ninja that his master Jiraiya wrote. Jiraiya met Naruto while he was in his mother's womb, and helped fuel his nindo, or way of life, by personally training the young ninja and leading by example. The parallel continues as even the book have the same tan-ish color, with adjectives describing the authors as Jiraiya, the Gallant and The Ghetto Writer, Arthur N. Sixty.\", /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {\n        className: \"trailing-break\"\n      })]\n    }), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"img\", {\n      alt: \"\",\n      className: \"framer-image\",\n      \"data-framer-asset\": \"data:framer/asset-reference,KyKvw3pdRAgQoBqZ03WJNKEUk.jpg\",\n      \"data-framer-height\": \"1488\",\n      \"data-framer-width\": \"2852\",\n      height: \"744\",\n      src: new URL(\"https://framerusercontent.com/images/KyKvw3pdRAgQoBqZ03WJNKEUk.jpg\").href,\n      style: {\n        aspectRatio: \"2852 / 1488\"\n      },\n      width: \"1426\"\n    }), /*#__PURE__*/_jsxs(\"p\", {\n      children: [/*#__PURE__*/_jsxs(\"em\", {\n        children: [\"Same here, Naruto. \", /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), \"Same.\", /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {})]\n      }), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), \"To Naruto, Jiraiya's first book is not only a memento, it's a reminder to never give up. Naruto used it, along with the words within to change the world.\", /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), \"To me, Sixty's first book serves as a reminder that I can do whatever I put my mind to. This past year, I left my safe and secure job behind to go and see what I was made out of.\", /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), \"It's been a journey of learning how to believe in myself. Writing Inventus is the hardest thing I've ever done. I'm on the seventh version for the storyline for Christ's sake and have pushed back the completion date several times. Not meeting my own deadlines suck big time, plus it did a number on my self-esteem. But it would be the biggest slap in Sixty's face for me to not believe in myself at this point - especially after having received those words to continue on by a man who taught himself how to read, write, and write again while paralyzed. For that reason I won't succumb to something as laughably real and trivial like analysis paralysis.\", /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), \"I'll continue to remind myself that if he could do what he put his mind to, so can I.\", /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), \"And that means you can too.\", /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), \"- Emanuel Perez\", /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), /*#__PURE__*/_jsxs(\"em\", {\n        children: [\"artifact #3: \", /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"strong\", {\n          children: \"you've\"\n        })]\n      })]\n    })]\n  }),\n  id: \"EPGWAgG5P\",\n  L9PPYB9hc: \"full-circle-moments\",\n  pQQV5k4Cr: \"Things you've experienced early on were meant for a reason.\",\n  urYzMB5CE: \"2023-01-12T00:00:00.000Z\",\n  wsDdd98Bz: {\n    alt: \"\",\n    src: new URL(\"https://framerusercontent.com/images/AKJkjDByR214n5zUkQyKe7j5D8.jpg\").href,\n    srcSet: `${new URL(\"https://framerusercontent.com/images/AKJkjDByR214n5zUkQyKe7j5D8.jpg?scale-down-to=512\").href} 512w, ${new URL(\"https://framerusercontent.com/images/AKJkjDByR214n5zUkQyKe7j5D8.jpg?scale-down-to=1024\").href} 1024w, ${new URL(\"https://framerusercontent.com/images/AKJkjDByR214n5zUkQyKe7j5D8.jpg\").href} 1536w`\n  },\n  YCf2aQJG6: \"Full circle moments\"\n}, {\n  asZcBjh4Z: \"Artifact\",\n  HbEdysqdb: /*#__PURE__*/_jsxs(React.Fragment, {\n    children: [/*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"p\", {\n      children: /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"em\", {\n        children: \"What in the name is Inventus? Read on to discover more about our second artifact!\"\n      })\n    }), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"h3\", {\n      children: /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"strong\", {\n        children: \"The dream\"\n      })\n    }), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"p\", {\n      children: \"When I was a kid, I had a dream of being an inventor. This dream manifested itself in the most peculiar ways.\"\n    }), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"p\", {\n      children: \"At home, my mom praised me for being able to assemble a new appliance, like a box fan, without looking at the instructions. My older brother chastised me after I learned how to change the admin password on his old Sony VAIO laptop through the control panel. My little sister wasn\u2019t too happy when I constantly made a mess in our room, dissecting Nokia phones, playing with TV antennas, and even shocking myself when I messed with an electrical outlet - ouch.\"\n    }), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"p\", {\n      children: \"I had this insatiable craving for technology and wanted to understand how things worked at the ripe age of 6 years old. In middle school, I boldly declared I\u2019d go to college at MIT and shared the news with my teachers and on my facebook profile in \u201809.\"\n    }), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"p\", {\n      children: \"Along the way, I unfortunately lost touch with that dream. Our family was financially insecure, and I distinctly remember my mom telling me to search for scholarships the summer before my freshman year of high school (come on bruh!). \u201CInventor\u201D wasn\u2019t a choice on the drop-down menu of college majors. My heart sank.\"\n    }), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"p\", {\n      children: \"So I tried again, this time entering in \u201Centrepreneur\u201D.\"\n    }), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"p\", {\n      children: \"No dice.\"\n    }), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"p\", {\n      children: \"One night while watching TV I called up a patent agency after seeing their ad, promising to help inventors make their dreams come to life.\"\n    }), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"p\", {\n      children: \"It was a ripoff.\"\n    }), /*#__PURE__*/_jsxs(\"p\", {\n      children: [\"My mind felt defeated, and the dream vanished into thin air what seems like overnight. We moved from cities to states and I enrolled in a number of different school systems, 14 at that, from  K-12 as it's commonly called in the U.S. Looking back now, it's crazy to think life events can trigger neural responses causing memories to fade like childhood aspirations. I wouldn't end up meeting mine again for a long time.\", /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {\n        className: \"trailing-break\"\n      })]\n    }), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"h3\", {\n      children: \"The poem\"\n    }), /*#__PURE__*/_jsxs(\"p\", {\n      children: [\"In my senior year of high school, something changed. I joined a club at school called Kappa Instructional Leadership League, which was an auxiliary program hosted by the brothers of Kappa Alpha Psi Fraternity, Incorporated. The year prior, I flaked on an interest meeting with them while I was in my sadboy-themed era (it was rough), and was more than determined to \", /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"em\", {\n        children: /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"strong\", {\n          children: \"see it through\"\n        })\n      }), \" in my last year of HS. During the program, we learned a variety of poems, but there was one that stuck out to me in particular. This special poem went by the name of Invictus, written by William Earnest Henley.\"]\n    }), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"img\", {\n      alt: \"\",\n      className: \"framer-image\",\n      \"data-framer-asset\": \"data:framer/asset-reference,Le3GTmHVgtKgiaVA3He4SHAVQ8.jpg?preferredSize=full\",\n      \"data-framer-height\": \"902\",\n      \"data-framer-width\": \"734\",\n      height: \"451\",\n      src: new URL(\"https://framerusercontent.com/images/Le3GTmHVgtKgiaVA3He4SHAVQ8.jpg\").href,\n      style: {\n        aspectRatio: \"734 / 902\"\n      },\n      width: \"367\"\n    }), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"p\", {\n      children: \"Some of you might already know this poem (looking right at you, D9). Some of you might not, and that's ok. It took me forever to learn Invictus, and back then, the stanzas didn\u2019t \u201Chit\u201D me like they impacted my mentor and program advisor, DJavon Alston, who I endearingly call big bro to this day.\"\n    }), /*#__PURE__*/_jsxs(\"p\", {\n      children: [\"One night, one of the guys in our Kappa League brotherhood had really bad news. It was an emotional day, and our whole line got teary eyed. DJavon shared with us the intentionality of \", /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"strong\", {\n        children: \"why\"\n      }), \" we were learning poems like Invictus. It wasn\u2019t for initiation or for regurgatating info when prompted. The poem was a literal invocation to summon strength whenever deemed necessary.\"]\n    }), /*#__PURE__*/_jsxs(\"p\", {\n      children: [\"I\u2019d learn later on that Nelson Mandela recited the poem frequently while jailed for 27 years for leading anti-apartheid movements in South Africa. Something about this struck me - how could a poem be that powerful? Sure, the lines \u201CI am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul\u201D \", /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"em\", {\n        children: \"sound\"\n      }), \" motivating to the untuned ear. But using it as fuel to overcome unimaginable harsh conditions, like the ones Mr. Mandela faced daily while locked up, is on a whole 'nother scale.\", /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), \"I'd have to experience a few more key life events until I truly understand what Invictus meant.\"]\n    }), /*#__PURE__*/_jsxs(\"h3\", {\n      children: [/*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), \"Bloody, but unbowed \"]\n    }), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"p\", {\n      children: \"Right at the start of my freshman year in college, I heard the terrible news that my dad had suffered from a stroke, leaving half of his body paralyzed from head to toe. I cut class and walked up the bleachers of Norfolk State University\u2019s football stadium while reciting Invictus under my breath. It was an instinctual response. And it was the only thing keeping me from breaking down.\"\n    }), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"p\", {\n      children: \"I\u2019d recite it again 3 years later during an ambulance ride to the hospital after dislocating my right knee while in Michigan for an internship. My kneecap buckled and looked like a hammerhead shark after I launched a kick in Muay Thai practice. My leg, now a double-sided axe, was unbearable to look at and the pain was immense. The EMT in the ambulance looked at me questionably while I repeated the poem again and again.\"\n    }), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"p\", {\n      children: \"4 months passed, and I was asked to do a speech for ACCESS, a local college foundation, and share a piece of my story about matriculating through NSU. I wrote diligently about the challenges I faced in academia and what I did to overcome them. Then on Sunday, two days before I was scheduled to deliver my speech, I heard news that my dad passed away from a rupture in his throat.\"\n    }), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"p\", {\n      children: \"What. the. f**k.\"\n    }), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"p\", {\n      children: \"It\u2019s all I could think to myself. I heard from my t\\xeda earlier that week that he was in good health and slowly recovering. I was just on facetime with him, watching him speak to me from his hospitable bed the week before. I broke down in my room that Sunday afternoon. I went out to a bar to drink the pain away. I stopped short in my tracks, remembering that my father struggled with alcohol abuse, and had a similar echo like Kendrick Lamar did not to let the bottle consume my soul.\"\n    }), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"p\", {\n      children: \"Tuesday came, and I put on my best suit, shined my shoes, grabbed my portfolio, filled up my car\u2019s tank of gas, and drove to the venue in straight silence. I put on a smile. Or at least tried my best to fake one. I remember some of the ACCESS staff asking if I was nervous about the speech. It was a big deal to them - of course they\u2019d want to ease my nerves. But how could I drop a bomb on them with my life event? I decided to tell a few of the staff members I knew on a deeper level, in privacy, as we walked to the patio outside of the hotel.\"\n    }), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"p\", {\n      children: \"They were understanding and empathetic after I shared news of my loss, and said it was completely ok to sit this one out. To me, it didn\u2019t seem right to let them down. I asked a former staff member if she knew Invictus, and if she could recite it with me out loud while we stood in the chilly wind.\"\n    }), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"p\", {\n      children: \"Afterwards we went into the ballroom, and a few moments later it was speech time. I grabbed my portfolio, took out the printed sheet, and did my thing. Towards the end I paused while feeling the waterworks about to burst and opened up about my dad\u2019s loss, and that he\u2019d want me to finish whatever I started. It was an unconscious ode to Invictus\u2019s line: \u201Cmy head is bloody, but unbowed\u201D.\"\n    }), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"p\", {\n      children: \"A standing ovation erupted through the crowd as I closed out. I couldn\u2019t believe it. I wasn\u2019t looking for pity, I just wanted to share what I was going through. There was an outpour of love from community members and distinguished guests through bearhugs and handshakes. Before I left, a waiter ran up to me and told me the back-of-house staff were in tears from my speech. It was a humbling moment I'll never forget.\"\n    }), /*#__PURE__*/_jsxs(\"p\", {\n      children: [\"I then learned how powerful authenticity can be when it comes from your soul. It would be an overstatement to say that William Earnest Henley and I have faced similar life events. William lost his father as a teenager, contracted tuberculosis at 12 years old, and even had the limb below his knee amputated. He even wrote Invictus while healing in his hospital bed. His poetry the depths of his soul, and was a testament to his unconquerable spirit. You can\u2019t fake something like that, not even with AI.\", /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {\n        className: \"trailing-break\"\n      })]\n    }), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"h3\", {\n      children: /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"strong\", {\n        children: \"Blending both worlds\"\n      })\n    }), /*#__PURE__*/_jsxs(\"p\", {\n      children: [\"I got to feel another author\u2019s soul when I read Paulo Coelho\u2019s The Alchemist after COVID struck the world. A few days after reading, I heard my heart talking and felt the memories of my youth defrosting. My dream to be an inventor hit me like a boomerang making it's return. It was my \", /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"em\", {\n        children: \"personal legend\"\n      }), \", as it's commonly referred to in the famous fable.\"]\n    }), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"p\", {\n      children: \"And as if it was ordained, I spent that summer as an intern with IBM - even getting the opportunity to submit a couple of patents. I didn\u2019t want to be an inventor in the physical sense, but instead a metaphysical inventor. A thought inventor. I was curious about the law of attraction and wanted to figure out how something simple as bringing an idea to life happens with pure thoughts. I wanted to reverse engineer the thought process behind people we look up to making their big break after being stuck in the sunken place.\"\n    }), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"p\", {\n      children: \"My personal legend evolved into writing a story that had this message at the core of its being. As of now, I\u2019ve written about 6 half-baked drafts that have all gotten crumpled up and thrown in the trash. Titling my novel \u201CThe Inventor\u201D was too similar to Coelho\u2019s \u201CThe Alchemist\u201D, and I didn\u2019t want to copy his style - that\u2019s just not me.\"\n    }), /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"p\", {\n      children: \"Last year I watched an interview with Kobe Bryant explaining his process of creating his storytelling company Granity.\"\n    }), /*#__PURE__*/_jsxs(\"p\", {\n      children: [\"Greater. Than. Infinity.\", /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"br\", {}), \"Granity.\"]\n    }), /*#__PURE__*/_jsxs(\"p\", {\n      children: [\"It was \", /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"em\", {\n        children: \"that\"\n      }), \" simple to Kobe. Yet it wasn\u2019t trivial. He lived and breathed those words through his daily actions as a human and as a professional basketball player revered by many.\"]\n    }), /*#__PURE__*/_jsxs(\"p\", {\n      children: [\"I might be 24, but hell I\u2019ve got a story to tell as well. Creating a portmanteau with my dream of being an inventor, and with the poem I still hold dear to my heart (take a guess!), equals the title Inventus. Every chapter begins with an intentional poem I\u2019ve written by hand. Each story arc, though fictional, reflects a part of my journey while on this earth. I knew I couldn\u2019t write about taking the leap of faith into the \", /*#__PURE__*/_jsx(\"strong\", {\n        children: \"unknown\"\n      }), \" unless I actually did it myself. Leaving my job last January to start a startup and write this novel was scary AF, but that archived story is for another day.\"]\n    }), /*#__PURE__*/_jsxs(\"p\", {\n      children: [\"Thanks for reading, and I look forward to sharing more archives behind the story until the release date. 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