…because this is about me, my dear love for writing and our years together.
I have been writing for god-knows-when-time I started holding a pencil. The first I wrote was a story entitled “The Sad Fish” in red-blue-red sheets of paper, which I believe my mother kept in some buried place of the house after showing off to my aunties and uncles how genius I am. Until now, they all believe I’m good in writing.
However, I don’t think I am utterly gifted in writing. I am no Shakespeare and I know no rules in writing (except for grammar, of course). I shied away from Language and Literature in college because I didn’t like writing to be a chore and I don’t want to be too critical of myself when doing so. I write when I want to write. I write what I like to write. Shallow or contemplative entries, that’s what have been keeping my pen alive these years. My former blogs can attest to that. Yes, that was my premature writing phase when my blog was a compilation of love-hate relationships with this and that. Add the fact that I don’t consider capitalization in most posts, but I’d rather say those entries are allusions to ee cummings.
But there is growth and a lot more to it. Like keeping journals to myself then, to lifting the pages, publishing and sharing them on the internet now. There might just be a few who care to read and listen, and that’s enough. Not everyone needs to know about everything, while I too, curate my own pages and decide what to put into writing. It’s a matter of privacy. I’m no sister of the president, you know.
I don’t even know what’s the point of me yakking about this, actually. Well, it might be because I don’t write creatively now. I’m not pertaining to rhyming poems, ok. But to writing short stories and the like. I must have forgotten since I got busy with work. Yuppie thing, yes. However, work afforded me to more ideas and possibilities I’d rather plant on myself than to fictional characters. Thus, I might stick, or let’s say write majorly about myself and what’s going on rather than incorporating and inventing. This makes me feel so mature I’m sticking to reality, come on! But hey, I’m serious.
So, 23’s going to be a year all about me and whoever’s around.
Again, this is not a birthday blog, just a little glance upon me and my dire passion of sorts with writing. Birthday blog will come soon, perhaps when the month ends. My birthday is always a month-long celebration anyway.
Oh yes, birthday blogs – personal tradition aka annual writing project. Good thing, every year, something significant comes up. 🙂