I have always been an aspiring writer; have made a couple of blogs; have written more than four chapters of a story when I was fourteen; have made a number of poems since I was young. Only to delete and trash them, erase it in the realm of this world, turning them only to mere memories and experiences. They have always been “not worthy” on my own perspective, of people’s precious time. Moreover, to even be considered a part of literature, which I value deeply.
It’s not that I was discouraged or that it was badly criticized. In fact, all along, people have been nudging me to write more, to explore this gift, but there’s always this problem: the monster of my own making, the leash and cage I have set upon myself. And for years, I have let this monster get the best of me.
I know we’ve all had rough times in our lives, and yet in those dark days we also have the light at the end of the tunnel to cling to. To me, it’s the gift and love of words. Time have always been an anchor, whether it be indulging in classic masterpieces or passing the day with a “New York Times Best Seller”, or simply creating a verse or two. That’s why I have always looked down upon my work, not wanting people to get a glimpse of them. I am afraid that my greatest fear would come to life, to grip and haunt me in reality: That I ruin, screw-up the best thing I’m capable of making.
But only a month ago, when I decided to create this blog, I have promised myself not to give in to my demon. I have promised myself to hold on to this gift, to cherish it regardless of what people may say, regardless of what I think people might say. I just have to keep the faith. Yes, I may not be the best writer there is, but this is the one thing I do best. Now, I am unleashed.