Cliche. I know. But this is just so true for me lately.
August 31, 2012, the day I officially entered the world of the unemployed. What’s a bum to do? Major room decluttering, of course. But clean, I did not. Instead I found myself soul-searching among my old written works which made me ask myself, “Did I really write these? Damn, where did all that inspiration go?” And that’s when I looked back and re-traced my steps to my first love.
Aside from Barbie and Polly Pocket, my stash of Francine Pascal’s Sweet Valley Kids has been a companion while I was growing up. This stash grew to be a huge collection of young adult fiction and teen magazines which later took a transition to a wider range of novels and non-fiction books.
This love for reading paved the way to my first love, writing. I started a journal at an early age of nine. My diary became my refuge; an outlet for the musings and rantings of a young girl. Never did I know that this habit would later turn into a very important part of my life.
2001, I was a freshman in high school then. It was through a simple essay-writing exercise for an english class that I discovered that I have a way with words. It came as no surprise for my family, but it was a shock for me. Who could’ve thought that this guilty pleasure of mine actually developed into a talent I never thought I had?
And it all started there. I embraced my potential and it definitely gave my life some sort of roadmap. I joined the school newspaper, I took up communication in college and had my first job at a broadcasting company.
Somewhere between the job description, deadlines, crisis of being a young professional, time management, the hustle and bustle of the industry, the pressure to deliver and standards to be followed, I lost the fire; that inspiration to use writing to express and not just to impress. And it sucks. Writing may be a huge part of my previous job, but towards the end, it didn’t fulfill me as much as it did before. That’s the challenge of growing up, I guess. It’s all about fighting and striving to do what I am intended to do. And that is to write, not just because I have to earn, but because I have to LIVE.
“You have a talent for writing. Use it well,” my Creative Writing professor wrote on one of my papers.
And yes, that’s what I intend to do.
Of Colors and Words 