Writing has always been a part of my life. Even as a little girl, I had journals where I’d scribble boys names that I liked and recounted what I ate for dinner. Not exactly groundbreaking stuff but what could you really expect from a child. As I grew older and became more involved with the Internet, I opened online journals and jumped on the livejournal bandwagon that many of my friends were on. I kept a few journals, some of which I can’t even remember the name of and in them, I tried to capture my life, my emotions and who I was at that moment in time.
Maybe to some, it seems like a monumental waste of time. Many would argue that instead of writing, why not go out and do something. I suppose I’m more of a reflective person and my nature gravitates doing things with purpose. I didn’t understand the importance back then of the personal stories I’d end up writing but I thank my former self for doing so. I only wish I had done it more often.
Looking back on old blogs, some days I cringe at my more naive and young self. I see these posts dripping with teenage angst, meaningless and often non-existent love affairs. I laugh at my stupidity, feel sadness when I revisit old heartaches. I read post after post from a young girl and am amazed that once upon a time, those words came from me. I’m often impressed with how well I expressed myself and hope that I’m still doing myself justice these days.
I’m glad that I’ve revisited my love for writing, despite how long it took me. I missed out on a lot of writing potential these past few years, though one cannot blame me for taking university and homework as my top priorities. I was dealing with a lot of different things and some days I wish I had commemorated it through a few sentences. I love seeing my growth (I hope I’m growing from all of this) and hope to continue to write well into the future. Maybe someday my words will be good enough to be encapsulated into one story even if only for my grandchildren’s viewing and remind everyone that although I am no different from anyone else, it doesn’t make my story any less important.