I lost something. I lost the ability to write. I lost the power to express and be free.
When I was a kid I was pretty confident with what I do, specifically in what I write. I remember when I was a child we, together with my other sisters, would beg to watch Barbie episodes on the television because elders think it’s just a waste of time and electricity plus the fact that we’re supposed to sleep during afternoons. I remember that I was able to get a glimpse on Barbie and the Pauper (not 100% sure if that’s it) or something wherein one of the two lead wasn’t able to find a partner and I remember being sad about the plot. Come on, everyone deserves a happy ever after (or at least my 8 year old self does). Then at that moment I decided to write a story, my own story. I pull my intermediate paper and a number two pencil and started writing about a twin princess who lives in a faraway land where I intended for them to find their prince in their knight in shining armor. Of course I didn’t got to finish it, I vaguely remember that I’m still on the introductory part of it when the next day happened which I think caused me part of my skills.
My older sister found out about the story and read it. She then told others about it then they read it. I was mortified because it wasn’t done yet and what am I going to say if they ask what the heck am I doing? Come on, writing your own version of a Barbie story just because you didn’t like the one you were able to watch? Not a chance kiddo plus I am shy. I grow up silent, moody and I don’t want others minding my business. Don’t get me wrong, they actually praised my work, even saying that my grammar is good for an 8 year old who is writing an English story. But it’s just not me. I don’t want to be under the spotlight.
I was writing freely with my heart hoping to have and to create a beautiful world. I had the guts of voicing out the voice inside of me. I was and I had. Now I don’t know what’s left of me.
Looking back I guess I’m just too scared to be scrutinized. To be judged. That’s why I concede with the society. And up until now I guess I’m still scared.
When I had a really bad day or a highlighted day I made it sure to make an entry on one of my notebooks. It’s not regular but at least I have it. I poured all the hurt, pain, anger, and insecurities on my notebooks. And then when I grow older I found out about blogging.
My blog started as an e-diary for me. I didn’t even have a visitor but I still post stuff on it. I never even broadcast my blog or even a single post on my personal facebook account because what I post here is private, it housed a different side of myself so I never did tried because I don’t want those people who knew me change the way they see me. I don’t want the fame or the popularity. I want peace, I want a place for myself.
And then college happened. I know I can write, I’ve been good at expressing myself but I guess none of those really matters at some time. I decided to try joining our college publication on my first year and remember how worried I am not about the exam itself but because it started pretty late and I ended up getting home around 8PM and it was actually my first time not to be home that late. Of course my hope was high that time! Come on, I was a kid full of optimism because I haven’t tasted what college really has to offer (now I know better). And guess what, I didn’t make it. Oh well, who am I to fool anyone? I didn’t even have a background on newspaper!
Of course, I was disappointed. You can get disappointed with the things you love, you deserve it. But I suck it up and faced first year with my great friends. We had fun, we laugh, we build camaraderie with others and it’s just great.
And then second year happened. I took the exam, again, and yes I still didn’t got accepted. A friend of mine does though, and she has every right because she’s been a part of our high school newspaper and she writes pretty well. I kinda admit that I got ashamed of myself, come on two freaking years and still didn’t got accepted? I then started accepting that maybe the fault is now on me. Maybe I’m not good enough, that I can’t make it. So I moved on and focused on my studies while I also become part of our college student council. That year was fun, busy, and fulfilling.
Then here goes my third year, something happened late sophomore year and before my junior year, and then here we go again. I was pretty sure that I won’t gonna make it so I decided not to take it. My self-esteemed is beyond marianas trench so yes, I was pretty broken. But as the exam day got closer I was like ‘What do you have to lose? If you make it then good, if not well move on.’ I took it because I don’t want to have regrets in the future saying why I didn’t even try. Why I made myself a loser by default by not even trying and giving a fight. And I’m glad I took it, I’m thankful I talked myself on it because if I didn’t then I wouldn’t be where I am right now. (I’m currently on my second year on the publication and now the Managing Editor) If I didn’t then, I’m sure to be forever thinking what might have happened if I did.
But that happening didn’t heal my lack of confidence in writing. I’m surrounded by bunches of good writer now and I sometimes feel so small. They have background, some EIC, some editors and stuff and here I am, nothing. I sometimes think that maybe someone pulled strings to let me in. I actually been thinking about it, I’m being crazy already! Sigh. All in all I still think low of myself, I feel low.
I lost my will to write from the heart. I’m scared to express my thoughts mainly because I’m not ready to share and be scrutinized and because I know I’m not that good. I want to write. I want to tell stories and to reach people around the globe but I’m not brave enough.
There’s always something I wanted to say. Words and ideas keep popping on my head, lines that I should put into print but every time I go close to my computer and try to channel them I keep on doing and being something I’m not. Once I open a blank document the words just keep evaporating in thin air, they just keep on dissolving and I’m just left with thoughts that my blog needs to barely live.
And now, I’m scared to publish this post because people I know might read it (if they know that this even exists) and think I’m too damaged and emotional. That I’m too outspoken and chatty here, being girly or whatever.
I want to write again. I want to be free like a bird without a cage. I want to be me again. I want to be the 8-year old girl who wants to have it her own way. The girl who thinks she can do it. The one who fights back when she didn’t got what she wanted. The girl who didn’t mind the flaws on her work in terms of technical aspects but focuses more on the soul it gives. I want to be me again.
now playing x Troye Sivan's Lost Boy