I came back to Medium after only posting about 4–5 blog posts and I had 86 followers.
I guess that’s my sign to continue writing.
I am a writer.
From the depths of my soul to the light speckling of hair on my skin, there have always been a few things in life that I was sure of.
- I am a writer.
- I’m not meant to be ordinary.
- I am a runner.
- I am a realist.
I have been writing since I was 10–11 years old. I would close the door to my bedroom and disappear into my own semi-consciousness.
My imagination was so strong and vivid when I was younger that I would have dreams I would call “real dreams”. My dreams as a child were so realistic that I’d wake up, continuing to dream but now living my dream in real life. I’d feel the emotions of my dreams and cry or be fearful then grateful that the dream wasn’t real.
I began to write because I’m an introvert. I was not a confrontational person at all as a child.
Many who know me would be surprised because I act like I’m “tough as nails” because life is a jungle and we all are just trying to survive. But, the real Me prefers not to argue or be confrontational at all.
I have always expressed myself best with words.
Yet, due to my shyness and humbleness, I never believed my works were anything special. And as I feared any criticism that could potentially shatter my fragile and artistic soul, I would never allow anyone to read anything I wrote.
So, to this day, my poems lay on pieces of paper in notebooks piled into a sad bag, pushed to the back of my closet.
It’s not all melancholy and dark skies though. I always knew I’d publish my work some day.
I do feel very protective of my work, even more so when I was a child. However, I am so much stronger as a grown Woman and I am now ready to show the World my talent.
I am now old enough to listen to criticism and critically accept or decline the feedback given. And I think I fear most is passing away and no one knowing that I am a writer until I am long gone.
