I love writing
I love writing.
A statement that my younger self could never imagine I would say.
For most of my upbringing, writing was something I had to do, forced onto me by school. It caused intense stress. Given an essay topic and a word-minimum, I would panic, not knowing what to possibly write. It took me three or four times longer than most others.
Five years ago my perspective on writing was changed. Observing a friend who wrote in his pocket notebook every day, I realized how useful it might be to put my thoughts on paper. So the next time he went to the store to buy a new notebook, I asked him to get me one too.
I wrote down any peculiar thought that crossed my mind. I continued doing so nearly every day. Even more, I realized that writing is more than a way to just capture thoughts. I write to think—and I've always enjoyed thinking.
I often find words beneath my pen that I hadn't expected to come from my mind. Perhaps this is because writing does not just come from the mind; writing is a process of converting intuition into words.
I now write for myself rather than to meet anyone else's standards. It's still a struggle to find the right words, yet somehow I love it.
Translating notions from heart to paper is imperfect. But I don't know any better way to express myself.