Asmaey.
That’s what my mother called me.

That voice taught me to hold light inside.
I played with colours under the bed,
in dark corners,
hiding on a roof.

Asmaey was always a call to the romance of life.
Art came early — shaped by empathy.
But it stayed hidden. Unseen.
How could I put it on a stage?
How could I let people watch?
Shyness held it back.

The world felt only one thing…
I was mysterious, and lived in my fantasy…
Few whispered: she is a spirit
that will always hold me back from being successful.

Then one day the voice went silent.
And the departure of my mother shattered my soul.

And the expression screamed: Who am I?

From somewhere above, the voice returned.
It said my name again: “Asmaey.”

This time I stepped onto the world stage.
Because the voice told me to give what I had been holding back.

Now I say the reality is a big fiction
and Asmaey is Real.

I will die one day.
But Asmaey will keep talking to the world.

Asmaey is compassion.
Asmaey is passion.
Asmaey is romance.

I handed over the flag in the hands of Asmaey that is Empath who is here to bring light to darkness.