I’ve been using my words and my inner desires to figure out the person that I am right now and to create the person that I want to be in the near future. It’s not that those two personas are quite different. I think it’s like my current persona is in the puberty age, looking up to my future persona as her full-grown adult superhero.
I have passed the baby and the toddler stages. Those were the days when I learned how to write, how to blog, discovered other writers, appreciate and even envied a few, both living and dead. When I try to recall how I feel about my kiddie selves, I like my innocent scribbles during those times. I’ve written for myself, keeping all my thoughts a secret — both offline (notebooks, journals, password-protected Microsoft Word) and online (anonymous blogger).
That went on until I craved for recognition and interaction with regards to my writing. I wanted to be read. I wanted to be heard. I wanted people to slice my chest and take a look at what’s inside. I wanted to induce a reaction — mostly affirmation from them. So, I decided to come out in the blogosphere.
I took the first step.
I made a blogging mess obviously, writing about this and that, but consciously worrying of what people have to say about me or my thoughts. So I kind of filtered them. My high school honest, ethereal, dramatic writing faded on my current ink. I questioned myself on how evil of me to let that precious little writing pixie go.
Well, it’s just not me to blame. I took up engineering, trying to awaken the “smart and technical” side of my person because I always thought that I could be a better person if I could contribute like how the left-brainers of society do. I ended up being a test engineer, facing integrated circuits for breakfast, talking to them on coded words, on a level that they understand me.
I stayed in my company, you bet, but I couldn’t stop my fingers from hitting on the keyboard in an attempt to save my writer alter ego. So, after a brain-draining day, I would always write on my blog until I discovered that I could get paid for my writing. It was a prestige that I am not willing to keep to myself. I read more blogs, fished for more employees while keeping my day job. My personal blog transitioned into a Lifestyle and Finance blog. And I don’t know where to place
I have been writing, but I’ve been writing for somebody else. I longed for happy reliefs after a tiring heartfelt entry. I longed for writing for myself. I longed for writing and reading and reading more and writing more about what I have just read and reading more about writing. I longed for this kind of life.
I dream of this life while writing pieces (ie, e-mails) that I am not excited about. Okay, yeah, I often get lost in my thoughts in the office because I can no longer wait for the day when I can say that I’m giving up writing codes for writing on blogs. Repression breeds
Today may not be the day when my adult writer self should be awakened, but I can feel its faint breathing oh so close.