When someone asks me what my true passion is or what I’m truly good at — I would always say, “I’m very passionate about writing.” While this is somewhat true, I wonder if it really is.
Today, I stumbled upon my old journals. As I slid my fingers through the smudge inks, I realized how insane I was to think I was good at writing. I write what I feel. Therefore, most of my writings are pure chaos and genuine mistakes.
Every stroke has its own story. Every sentence has its tears. Every paragraph has its flaws and mistakes.
As much as I love writing about my day, I can’t help but think how bad I was with grammar and spelling. How intricately it is to construct a diary entry without mentioning the word “pain.”
But one day it changed…
I started obsessing with a guy, and the pages started to fill in color and hues. It’s as if a rainbow just landed on it and spread it everywhere. It started to look vibrant, and the word “pain” was never mentioned again.
I started to gain wisdom in writing more beautifully. It’s like a rhythm in my pen that can’t stop dancing. I find myself excited to come home just to write about him.
At first, I thought it wouldn’t last long like all my silly little crushes did. But as I flipped through the pages, all of them were about him. All of the pages screamed blissfullness.
He was the unexpected plot in my life, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t imagine going back to a time when he wasn’t the center of it all.
Now, I can confidently say that my true passion is writing because he is my muse, my source of inspiration, and my subject matter.
-A.L ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚
