Writing is such an ultimate source of relief for me. It doesn’t matter what I write about. It doesn’t matter how long or how short it would be. The only reason why I write is to share a piece of me. It’s difficult for me to relate and interact with people verbally. I’m not expressive by telling them things. I’m more on doing things or letting them feel things than actually saying things to them. I am not even good in explaining myself in talking. I’d rather be given ten minutes to write about what I want to say that say it straightforward. But of course, life doesn’t work that way.
An introvert, like me, must cope up to the demands of the social world. I’ve been trying my best, though. I’m really trying hard.
Writing is a passion I can’t just let go. I feel so much for writing as much as I feel for reading. The two just go together. I wouldn’t feel complete without one or the other. Imagine that writing and reading are my arms and if one gives up or is disfunctional, it wouldn’t be the same as having two arms and I wouldn’t be as functional as I was.
It saddens me a little that the people who likes the same things as me, and maybe who reads the same books that I read and write blog posts and/ or has a journal are definitely scarce. I don’t meet a lot of them in person. Maybe most of us are closet writers or closet bloggers. Like me. None of my close friends know about this blog nor I have the plan to tell them about it and let them read it.
That would be really embarrassing.
I’m still dreaming of that say to come when I can have writing as my job. I’d love every single day of it. It wouldn’t matter if I encounter struggles with it but as long as I get to run my fingers on a keyboard or write on a paper manually and have my hand be in pain at the end of the day because of writing too much, I’d bear it because you will bear everything for something you love. The same principle applies to people but let’s focus with Writing here.
Whenever someone would ask me what I want to do after college, I’d hesitate before I answer because there’s only one thing in my mind that I want to do and it’s been the only answer I’ve been giving to the people who asked, but with much reluctance, because they might think of it too much of a dream or very unrealistic or ambitious. But I tell them anyway.
I tell them that I want to become a travel writer. That’s it.
I imagine myself being a nomad for many months a year just going around places, near and far, everywhere and write about them and whatever in those places that could inspire me.
I am not for a mundane employee life with the same routine every single day. I don’t mean to insult them. I am not insulting their jobs. I don’t say that they’re not worthy citizens of this world because they are. I’m just saying that I may not be able to bear it if I allow myself to be stuck in an office when my mind only wishes and lusts for wandering. Income might not be as abundant as if I were to work for a company but the satisfaction it will give me will be priceless. Did that just sound like a cliche?
Well, all of us have dreams and would do anything and everything to at least have a taste on what it’s like to be living our dreams. and I would like to be one of those people who lives their dream.