This will sound clichéd, but it’s the truth:
Ever since I can remember, I’ve always loved to write. Even as a young girl, I loved the act of deciphering thoughts into words and turning them into physical forms through words on papers. Propelled by this passion and love, as far as I’m concerned I’ve been and always am writing, moving from journals to editorials to essays and blogging, of course.
But here’s a confession: I can’t stand it when bloggers and writers, established or not, declare that if they could turn back time or live differently – they wouldn’t change the writer-part of themselves. The kind of statement that would sound something like, “If I’m not a writer, I don’t know what I am.” I can’t stand that because they’d make it sound like writing’s a calling, one either does, or die without it. So untrue.
Growing up, I think this intense dislike and annoyance stem from feeling envious. I couldn’t write or prose the way they do – with such nuance, pathos, intelligence and depth. They’d reach levels that I can only hope and dream of to reach, moving in languid motion through their words. I lurked around their blogs, articles and the like but would feel down and beat myself up over how wonderful their write-ups were when compared to mine. Whenever I come across writers who dwell about their personal lives – to a degree, the way I do here – and find that they’re met with lively responses via comments and followers, I’d feel so upset and threatened, sinking deeper into my void of negativity. It always ends the same: I would find myself unable to write for days, sometimes months after. Now I see it for what it is: not writer’s block, but insecurity. I admit that it’s because of this that I never fought to pursue writing as a professional career. For a very long time, I believed so strongly that I just don’t have what it takes.
Now that I’m older and on my way to build a professional career in something so vastly different from writing (but equally loving), I’ve accepted the strengths and weaknesses of my writing and with that, the kind of writer I am. Somewhere deep in my wildest dreams, I think I still harbor this random, almost-impossible dream to be a creative nonfiction published writer. In reality however, I’ve accepted that while I might be a good writer – I’m not great, or astounding or whatever other exaggerated adjectives …that’s totally okay.
I’m happy to keep writing here and happier that I’m now able acknowledge, without any discontentment or lingering envy, the wonderful talents of so many writers that I loyally follow or stumble upon. Where I used to be a lurker both off- and online, I’ve come to realize how precious feedback is and believe so strongly that credit must be given where it’s due, so when I stumble upon great writing – I get excited. I’ll leave comments, share the articles around in cybersphere, talk and discuss them in Real Life – do whatever I can to convince others that they’re worthy reads (really!). I like this so much more, this feeling – awestruck, mind blown and happy.
So here’s my personal ode to all the wonderful and incredibly talented writers and bloggers whom I religiously follow and greatly enjoy their write-ups and especially, individual writing styles – here’s to each one of you: thank you for (your) writing! They’ve gotten me to great places and more notably, memorable emotions.