Writers write in many different ways. Nevertheless, for most writers, writing is a way of discovering what they think. Starting from a tangled heap of unrelated ideas, a writer works toward understanding, perhaps changing direction at several points along the way. Many people, however, write not because they have to but because they want to. They write to discover themselves and their world, to learn more about who they are and what they think and feel. They write to express thoughts and feelings they wouldn’t dare tell a soul – except for that special ‘person’ who lives in the pages of their diaries.
I started pursuing my writing career at the age of 11, and I was just in 5th grade then. I used to create my own poems and scribbled it at the back of my notebook. I usually write when I become so overwhelmed with my feelings. I never write when I’m in bliss. I am most inspired to write when sadness eats my whole being. And when I do feel that way, it seems like I’m transforming into my alter-ego that has been hiding for so long in my life’s closet. I tried to show my written piece of art to my mum, but like any other neophyte in writing, there was this fear of rejection and prejudice. Until one day, my English teacher, who is also the adviser of our school paper, called for me. She went straightforward and told me that she already appointed me as the new literary editor of the school organ. When I heard those words, I feel like a butter melting instantaneously. I was like “Why me?!” my question was finally answered when my teacher told me that she read all the poems that I wrote at the back of my notebook. Great.
And this is where my passion for writing emerged. I developed a healthy relationship with pens and papers. My ego boosted when I bagged first-place trophies and medals in essay writing contests. Until one horrendous day, when I was about to make a new article for my own column in the school paper, I cannot move my wrist. I was in pain, and it was so excruciating. I was rushed to the hospital. I was diagnosed with a carpal wrist disease. My heart was in grief and I felt like crying. The doctor advised me to undergo therapy sessions, and not to write or use the computer for hours, which is actually a vital part in my daily routine.
A part of me died. I stopped writing for almost 5 years. It seems like I lost a part of me. But when I enrolled in the Creative Writing class, the fire inside me was burning aglow. I can feel my hand itching to write again until the wee hours in the morning. Backed up with my past experiences in the field of writing, encouragement and support from loved ones and my God-given talent, I can say that I’m ready to open my doors again, ready to explore new horizons.
My alter-ego is again brought to life. My passion for writing is on the brink now. I must constantly endeavor my pursuit in writing if I were to succeed.
