Writing as a form of living
A great part of my writing today was influenced by the motivations I got back in Elementary days wherein we were asked to write essays in school. I remember friends, relatives, and teachers giving me a tap in the back, saying that maybe there’s a future in store for me if I pursue writing.
Today is the future they were talking about. And today, I, by no means, consider myself as a professional writer because I don’t do it for a living but I confess that writing is a reason that makes me want to live.
In writing, I get to taste life twice, or even more. Everything is possible in writing. Dreams turning into a reality; failures turning into success stories; heartbreaks turning into reunions. In writing, there are endless possibilities.
I’ve loved writers like Mitch Albom, Nicholas Sparks, Stephen Chbosky, Jerry Spinelli, JD Salinger, to name a few but I am in no way like them.
I am not an exceptional writer. I haven’t contributed anything great nor life-changing yet, but each time I write, I breathe. I feel like writing is a means to cope with the world, to taste life, and to escape life.
Whenever I feel happy, I write. Whenever I feel hungry, I write. Whenever I feel doubtful, scared, sad, deserted, betrayed, and insert as many adjectives as you can here, I write.
Writing might not have been my cause for a living, but it is undeniably one of my reasons for living.