A Beautiful Change, A Beautiful Trouble
In response to Warren Brown’s Monthly Prompt, “Has becoming a writer changed your life?”
Has becoming a writer changed my life?
The first change
When the marriage of words fascinated me in writing projects in high school, I knew then I was in trouble.
I want to take up journalism in college. I want to be a writer.
But to be a writer is not a career, it is a passion. It is not a career that can bring food to the table.
Unless, I can be an extraordinary writer with bestsellers in my name. If I will only write in magazines and newspapers, forget about it.
Eat your words is nothing but an idiom. In reality, no matter how many words I eat, I can’t calm a growling stomach.
Instead of pen and paper in my hands, I found myself holding explorer and forceps.
Though being who I am now is not what I wanted to be, I’ve learned to embrace everything. While in the roller coaster ride of a love and hate relationship.
The second change
My social media account became my happy place for my favorite thoughts and favorite people.
It brought me out from the cave. My mind has transported me to some nice place. A familiar place that has long been forgotten.
First love never dies
It took a while
Forgotten
Waited for a right timing
But here to stay.
The most comforting change, I gained new friends. A friendship I never thought I needed.
Like-minded friends, a sisterhood, that’s what we are. A friendship not forced by circumstances nor out of necessity.
The third change
Like everyone else, thanks to the pandemic. I found my way here in Medium.
Am I good enough to be here? I don’t think so.
One of the writing prompts of last year’s contest gave me the courage to dive in here. Not because I was confident that I can make a good piece but because I had written something about space sometime in my life. And maybe that was a sign that I have a space here in Medium.
But the space was so small, I can hardly fit in. I needed to squeeze myself to get in.
I have always read, “bring out the creative juices”. Thinking about it, the best way to get those creative juices out is by squeezing. Somehow, I’m on the right track.
Now, there is a space that my mind can occupy when everywhere else is crowded and suffocating.
The writer in me
I am not fond of talking, can let the day pass without talking to anybody. Whatever I have in my head stays there, though indefinitely.
Writing is my saving grace. Saving my thoughts from boredom and monotony.
Writing is like my alter ego. The only one who knows me besides myself. And sometimes, knows me better.
To write is like having a safety deposit box for my thoughts. They cannot disappear even when memory fades away.
To write is like having a lifeline. An emergency button for an escape route.
To write is like having a security blanket. A comfort for every twist and turn.
Many times, I rather hide behind my words. In there, there are no judgment and extra baggage. Only acceptance and understanding from whoever reads and wishes to.
Writing is like a trouble that found me. Once you’re in, there is no way out. And getting out is something I don’t want to figure out.
