Essay on Pen’s autobiography: Hello, dear friends! I am a pen, a simple object that everyone uses every day. But have you ever thought about my life? I am not just made of plastic or metal. I carry many stories, dreams, and thoughts. Today, I am going to tell you my story — the story of how I help people express their ideas, emotions, and dreams.
Essay on Pen’s autobiography | The Beginning of My Life
I was born in a big factory where many other pens like me were made. My body was carefully crafted. The workers filled me with ink, and I felt full of life for the first time. My shiny exterior gleamed under the factory lights, and I couldn’t wait to see the world. As I was packed in a box with other pens, I wondered where my journey would take me. Would I go to a school, an office, or maybe a writer’s desk? The excitement of the unknown made my journey special.
Essay on Pen’s autobiography | The Little Student
One day, the box I was in reached a small shop. I was placed on a shelf, waiting for someone to pick me up. Finally, a little boy named Aryan came to the shop with his father. Aryan’s eyes sparkled when he saw me, and he immediately asked his father to buy me. That’s when my real adventure began.
I was excited to be with Aryan. Every day, he would take me to school in his pencil box. I helped him write his homework, take notes, and even draw funny pictures on the last page of his notebook. Aryan treated me like his best friend, and I felt proud to be in his hands. We went on many adventures together, from learning new alphabets to writing his first essay.
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Essay on Pen’s autobiography | A Busy Life
In the classroom, I saw many other pens. Some were red, some were blue, and some were even fancy with sparkles. But I knew I was special to Aryan. He would carefully hold me, and we would write together. Every word he wrote with me felt like a new story, a new memory. Sometimes, Aryan would get nervous before a test, and I could feel his hand shaking. But I was there to support him. Together, we wrote all the answers, and Aryan would smile with relief after the exam.
I remember the day Aryan wrote his first letter to his grandmother. He was so excited, and I could feel his happiness through every word he wrote. The ink flowed smoothly, and I felt proud to be part of such a sweet moment.
When Aryan wasn’t at school, I still had a busy life. At home, Aryan loved drawing with me. We would create colorful worlds on paper — trees, animals, and even superheroes. His imagination had no limits, and I loved being the tool that brought his ideas to life.
One day, Aryan accidentally left me uncapped. I was scared! Without my cap, I could dry up, and then I would be useless. Luckily, Aryan’s mother noticed me and quickly put my cap back on. I felt so grateful and relieved. I didn’t want my journey with Aryan to end so soon.
Essay on Pen’s autobiography | The End of My Journey
One day, I know my journey will come to an end. I will run out of ink for the last time, and I will no longer be able to write. But I’m not sad about that anymore. I have helped Aryan and many others express themselves, and that’s all I ever wanted. My life may seem simple, but it is filled with many beautiful moments.
So, the next time you pick up a pen, remember — I have a story, just like you do!
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