Ever since I was a little girl, I have wanted to be a writer. I have
always loved the idea of writing all my secrets where nobody would ever
hear them; the idea of writing what I could never say out loud. Hearts can
leak, but books can never be broken. Hearts can be robbed, but books keep
fighting and fighting until there is nothing left that’s worth stealing. I
developed a sense of “trust” in my notebooks. I loved thought that my
words mattered to them.
It’s this constant battle you see, one that often throws me amidst the
knights and the warlords, and their bloody misunderstandings. That’s all
that war really is: a bunch of people misunderstanding each other.
There is a rare case or two of people fighting just to kill time, but for all of
the other times, there is always a reason. My reason is my "introvertiveness."
I hate my definition.
I was shy, I was sad, and worst of all: I knew it. My notebooks were
my prized possession. Each one had its own personality and when I
needed a friend, I knew that I would always have one. I have not always
been the most well liked at school and at there was a time when I had
absolutely no friends and nobody to turn to other than my notebooks, and
my mom.
I eventually did make some friends, but I’ve always had this strange
feeling that I’m just a little bit different than everyone else. I know that no
matter how hard I try, I’ll never quite fit in perfectly, but I’m probably the
closest puzzle piece to the one needed to fill the very oddly shaped hole in
my friend’s hearts.
Sometimes, writing is the only way to get something that you want,
but know you can never have. It’s easier to stay ignorant than risk
everything to go after something that is so far out of reach. Even in
day-dreams though, it is impossible to ever achieve any sort of satisfaction
with your accomplishments because they aren’t real.
Over time, and as technology evolved, those notebooks turned into
files and those files turned into folders and then I realized that the internet
existed. I could not only write whatever I wanted, but I could share it with
the world. I could do anything; I could be anyone. And that’s how I changed
my definition. I still had my notebooks, but I had changed. I no longer
wanted to forever keep to myself, but I wanted to share the world that I had
created. I wanted to give others some of the joy that I’ve found while
writing. I went from this pathetic, introverted girl sitting in the corner, to a
confident well-spoken individual with her own strong opinions.
always loved the idea of writing all my secrets where nobody would ever
hear them; the idea of writing what I could never say out loud. Hearts can
leak, but books can never be broken. Hearts can be robbed, but books keep
fighting and fighting until there is nothing left that’s worth stealing. I
developed a sense of “trust” in my notebooks. I loved thought that my
words mattered to them.
It’s this constant battle you see, one that often throws me amidst the
knights and the warlords, and their bloody misunderstandings. That’s all
that war really is: a bunch of people misunderstanding each other.
There is a rare case or two of people fighting just to kill time, but for all of
the other times, there is always a reason. My reason is my "introvertiveness."
I hate my definition.
I was shy, I was sad, and worst of all: I knew it. My notebooks were
my prized possession. Each one had its own personality and when I
needed a friend, I knew that I would always have one. I have not always
been the most well liked at school and at there was a time when I had
absolutely no friends and nobody to turn to other than my notebooks, and
my mom.
I eventually did make some friends, but I’ve always had this strange
feeling that I’m just a little bit different than everyone else. I know that no
matter how hard I try, I’ll never quite fit in perfectly, but I’m probably the
closest puzzle piece to the one needed to fill the very oddly shaped hole in
my friend’s hearts.
Sometimes, writing is the only way to get something that you want,
but know you can never have. It’s easier to stay ignorant than risk
everything to go after something that is so far out of reach. Even in
day-dreams though, it is impossible to ever achieve any sort of satisfaction
with your accomplishments because they aren’t real.
Over time, and as technology evolved, those notebooks turned into
files and those files turned into folders and then I realized that the internet
existed. I could not only write whatever I wanted, but I could share it with
the world. I could do anything; I could be anyone. And that’s how I changed
my definition. I still had my notebooks, but I had changed. I no longer
wanted to forever keep to myself, but I wanted to share the world that I had
created. I wanted to give others some of the joy that I’ve found while
writing. I went from this pathetic, introverted girl sitting in the corner, to a
confident well-spoken individual with her own strong opinions.
Comments
Post a Comment