Author’s note: writing and me. me and writing. We are forever connected and I couldn’t be more grateful to have it in my life. :”)

September 23rd, 2025: 3:30 PM

I think I always knew deep down that I wanted to be a writer since I was a child.

For as long as I can remember, I would write in some way. I would enjoy carrying a little notepad with me, hearing classic literature told by my sister, and I even tried to attempt writing poems like she did after she had read them to me.

Growing up, my best friends were books, all sorts of them, but to be entirely honest, the genre I tended to connect with the most was historical fiction. Each story I read that took place during historical events, big or small, impacted me deeply with the reality of a character’s emotions. It was raw in the sense that this event happened, and it made it all the more real when you connected the people back then to the characters in the novel.

Words were everything to me.

I learned from a young age that it’s not necessary to verbalize it with your voice; if you fear it, you can write it down on paper. So I did. There would be days I’d write until my hand ached and I had to force myself to put the pencil down. I had so many thoughts in my head, I felt so trapped within myself that the best release was to put them into words, in an attempt to better understand my emotions. How else could I describe them if I didn’t teach myself how to?

I’ve often heard how emotionally intelligent I am, how much of an “old soul” I was as a child, how “mature” I was for my age. Well, if only they knew the scribbles in my brain that had to be straightened out, one by one, to form sentences. Writing isn’t easy, it never will be, and I’ve had my fair share of back and forth with it over the years. It would bring me nothing but comfort, or it would simply bring me dread. Why? In writing, it is all of who I am as a human being. It shows each side of myself, the vulnerable, the hurt, the melancholy, all wrapped into one.

To this day, it’s a bit difficult for me to share pieces that I have written in the past and even now, since each piece is authentic.

I don’t often feel like what I write is easy to read. I don’t outright blurt out what I mean; I put it up for interpretation. If the reader understands, then they understand. If they don’t, then it wasn’t meant for them. Either way, it will resonate with who it needs to. But in the end, I know the story behind the words I jot down.

I know the meaning behind certain vocabulary choices, the flow of it all, how everything connects because at the end of the day, since I was a child, writing was always it for me, and I don’t believe that will ever change. It saves me when I feel like I’m sinking in quicksand, and it builds me up when I forget myself. It reminds me of what creativity means. It inspires me to keep going in hopes that one day, the words that I share will comfort those in need like it has done for me.