Ever since I was a child, I knew I wanted to write.
I preferred storybooks over toys, and made up tales in my head, using dolls as the characters. I went on journeys in the playground, sometimes alone, other times with a playmate who would humor my rather silly musings.
It was in high school that I discovered I had a knack for it, when I tried out for the school org. “She’s what we’re looking for” they had said, and for a while I believed that I was actually good at it. I wrote poetry and short stories, reviews and fanfiction. I had a diary, and then a blog, and wrote about anything and everything I could think of. It didn’t matter if I wrote about inane, teenage experiences or *gag* unrequited love. All that mattered was that I wrote.
Then I stopped. For reasons that even I couldn’t tell, I stopped writing. Maybe I didn’t have enough time, maybe I was always too tired, or simply terribly uninspired. It’s been a while since I wrote something of substance, and whatever talent I had has dwindled away, atrophied from disuse.
Now, however, is a good time for me to try and start again. I’ve just experienced how it is to get in a relationship, be in one, and get out of one. I’m out of college and is currently in search of a job. What career path to follow, I do not know yet. No, that’s not a late manifestation of teenage angst. I’m a Nursing graduate (yes, I know what you’re thinking), who, like many others in my place, is contemplating on whether I made the right choice in pursuing the said course.
So here I am. This is me standing at the crossroads, trying to navigate through the many twisted paths and to avoid any more dead ends. If you’d like to join me, you are most welcome. I could use the company. 🙂