I started writing when I was in high school, back when I felt the need to inscribe my experiences as a young gal who lived away from her family for a good quality education. I kept diaries where you can read my experiences, academics tragedies, sadness, homesickness, and madness. Though I was writing my grammar as well as my spelling was really bad. I never knew about the use of thesaurus. I can’t play with words. In short and sad to say – I was not really writing well, so I stopped. My writings were worth to be kept and stocked in my textbooks’ shelves.
In college, I went to a university miles away from home. More experiences thus more opportunities to write. So, I wrote them in my girlish journals with a pinkish cover. Entries in my first college journal were all about my lessons on womanhood, which I learned from my cell leader back then. My experiences spectrum broaden, so I wrote from womanhood to again writing my daily events to writing significant events to writing thoughts and revelations – all written in my pink journal.
My journals kept secrets. A page can reveal a part of me – and I don’t like it. First “kilig” moments with my first love, first exclusive relationship, first dates. Later, I also inscribed my gala with my goody buddies, cellmates, and blocmates. I recorded my violations and mischief. I kept my thoughts especially the not-to-be-shared thoughts in my journal. I wrote then I kept. I kept them in a locker or hid them under my pillows.
Though I was writing, all my entries are only and exclusively for myself. My revelations that are worth to be shared – I can’t articulate them well. I think that I’m good in speaking rather than writing. So, my writings were kept in journals which were under my pillows or in my textbooks’ shelves.
After college, I became fascinated reading articles and blogs. I was inspired by how their personal writings, insights, experiences, and opinions moved and influenced people. I envied them. I envied them for a good reason. Maybe I should also write. Maybe not just read.
And so, I’m stepping out. Despite insecurities, self-doubt and risk, perhaps I will and I should. Write, write, and write.