I never thought I would want to be a writer. I always aimed what seemed so huge in our conservative society, for instance a Doctor, which appears to be too formal that somehow it just wouldn’t digest the word itself to me, more like a cliché or a category of what people considered possessing sharp brains like the Chartered Accountants, while debits and credits, those cash flow or whatever the tables are called and the algebra figures, the stats didn’t really complied or obeyed to gravitate into my brain or was it I that couldn’t solve it? Either ways those weren’t really my forte.
I felt like a looser, my math teacher not giving heed to how I’m so weak and I would feel so low. I cheated most of the times during Math and Accounts exams. I wasn’t smart that’s what they say 😦 and my life sucked pretty much. If I’m not smart enough, how am I supposed to subsist the lapse of quality life? I’m going to be trampled all over. My life became tremendously horrifying garnered with qualms, anxiety and anxiousness. My life ended up at the verge of precarious treads, but like all normal not-smart-folks, I held it inside pushing myself away like I was never there. I guess that helped for a while- I mean yeah, for a while and I would even forget it at times with not often-appearing-euphoria as an excuse that I’m the happiest person, but no; it’s not. That was just a clincher and wore off in no time, again forging a metaphor.
It would be a shame if I dissuaded myself from not averting the way it had come to me because I knew full well that these world is full of idiots but at least they would try and yeah most of them had tried their ass off but the smart ones outwit them so easily that they wouldn’t even stand a chance. So what rights do I have to feel myself streaming through miseries, not even trying to make it through? Life had been hopeless, seeing other people win the battle and that wouldn’t make me happier at all. How can that idea dry my pain but against my consciousness my hands never stopped writing to it. I wrote diaries, filled them up like I didn’t care but I felt a relief breezing past through me as I interpreted how stupid life had made me, reinforcing my crooked philosophy about how world cherished only smart people and the ones who wasn’t, were left behind. It occurred to me, writing made it easier to get accustomed to it than talking to people. It didn’t judge me and it felt like my need to be heard was fulfilled.
I remember my friends, some of them; the so-called-smart-ones too have asked me to write letters to their friends, parents and sponsors, articles for annual school magazine and even their sick leave applications for them and without hesitation, I would do it all. It was pretty conspicuous, I loved it. I would sit in the library corner and devour books. The first book I’ve ever read was Enid Blyton’s “Famous Five (all series)”. The books were about five friends looking for adventure and they did had it but more in a mysterious way and solved them all like detectives which was pretty much impressive, actually all books would have impressed me but then I wasn’t aware. I loved the whole Literature thing, which is almost a magic blending word’s condiments producing a spice into a whole idea that could overwhelm people. I never complained, instead let it in fervently. Maybe I went through all those times to get me to this one. I wasn’t smart but I wasn’t a fool either, I just didn’t know how to portray myself back then based on what I am not good at. I can’t even top myself as an expert when the congregated thoughts conflates and made sense but all I know is, If I love it I’ll learn to do it right gradually. People say life will choose you, but I don’t think so. There need not to be a faculty to prove yourself smart, you need to follow your heart, what you love doing and that will be your choice. I and my life turn out to be the blend of the perfect me in it and the reason life was there. I believe we hit the road to set a path.
Everyone has a road to walk on it. Nobody has the right to judge what you’re to be but you yourself need to decide what you’ll be. You need not to worry about what you won’t be able to do but focus on what you love to do. I guess that’s what I did; I followed myself who lost her way. My love and obsession for writing led the direction towards myself, not as smooth as it could have been but I know nothing is easy and it never was but I think I’ll make it because I’ll use my metaphor -” If it ever gets hard, I won’t look over a distance from where I’m standing at but will take steps slowly that will bring me closer to my dream because right here I’m safe, I need not to run but just follow. It’s more important to prove it to yourself than to others.”
I’ll keep my nose to the grindstone and this is my niche for writing…
soonamdkey 