there is hardly anything meaningful in my life that i have a healthy relationship with. given this fact, it should not come as a surprise to me that something i denied for myself nearly all my life ended up being one thing that insistently nag at me.
the nature of the universe is very funny and one of its favorite running joke is making people mistake me as a writer — something so grand and magnificent, i immediately cower at the mere thought of being one. “that’s not something i could do,” i would laugh, just a little too hard to quiet down the persistent sting i didn’t have the courage to face.
this is probably my deepest and most shameful secret yet: i want to write. or at least, i want to be able to write something i can like. this acute wanting is often paired with the most terrifying shame. writing comes to me as a nerve wracking process littered with self hatred. i have very little patience of the fact that i am not immediately as good as the writers i admire; this is coupled with the understanding that i will never amount to anything as good as the authors i love if i did not start somewhere.
it was easier to feign disinterest, you see, to posture as if you are above having passion; rather than facing the chance of sucking at something you so desperately wanted to be good at. if i am mediocre at everything else that i am doing i could just shrug it off and say i do not care for it enough to be good at it, save my face and know that this is true. not with writing, not when i know what a good writing is and not when i know it isn't mine and could not be mine unless i have the courage to start. so i watched from the sidelines, envious — angry even at people who have it in them to face their dreams. to have the nerve to take on what i want while i play pretend with myself. the bitterness is debilitating, it takes over my existence. it horrifies me.
2024 has been a year of unlearning. of finally letting go. and maybe 2025 is one of starting over, building different habits now i have the space for something new to take over. which is to say i am breaking up with my shame, and as is with any unhealthy relationship, it will be a long and arduous journey getting over it. but for now i will say it as earnestly as i could, with all the terrifying implications and responsibility it comes with: i want to write. this account will probably be many thing but it will also serve as a documentation for the journey in which i try to become a decent enough writer in the hopes that i could be brave enough to show it to other people. but for now: i will write.
