There’s honestly no better feeling as an aspiring writer than knowing someone has taken the time to read or acknowledge the writing you worked so hard on. I usually pour my soul out, and once in a while I receive some sort of feedback and it makes me want to continue this painful process.
But that is not WHY I write.
I started my blog when I was 16. I was in high school and was an extremely expressive person; I couldn’t shut up about my thoughts and viewpoints. Needless to say it wasn’t very appreciated, it was then that I realised that I was voicing my notions in the wrong way.
That, mixed with the fact that a few unkind girls were crushing my confidence at school because I was dating a guy one of them had feelings for, meant that during this time I needed some way to convey my feelings in a way that wouldn’t give them any more reason to hate me.
Simultaneously, my grandfather was diagnosed with brain cancer. It wasn’t long before I woke up in the middle of the night to the news that he had passed away.
I don’t remember ever feeling that exact ache within my bones before, I don’t think I ever wished so hard to trade places with someone before. Losing him was more motivation than anything in this world to create something. Anything. After feeling as overwhelmed by grief as I did, I couldn’t keep it in any longer without assuring self-destruction.
That was when I decided that I had to write it out. I was now able to put into words exactly how trampled my spirit actually was. Seeing it right in front of me helped me gain some much-needed insight, and a way to make it easier to rationalise what was going on around me.
Today, after a couple of years that eventually lead to forgiveness, I am, ironically, thankful to those girls for making me feel so insignificant and helpless. Not only because it made me want to become a better person but also because it taught me that any creative outlet for me, meant I could keep my sanity.
My grandfather inspired me, he was so passionate about flying and aviation, it was easy to want to become ambitious with him to look up to.
This is where I started.
And now, I write because I need to. I write so that I can indulge in words. I write because even if it’s just one friend who reads my blog out of obligation, just maybe it reaches into them the way it does into me. I write so that the chaos in my mind does not spill over into my life.
It’s nice to get recognition, a couple of shares, views or tweets but ultimately I write because it hurts in the most bittersweet and unforgettable way.
These are MY words.