Mom, I will be a Writer.
Through my teens, this career and these hobbies that I was about to embrace floated over and around me. No, not the career. The life I was about to embrace. A career was never simply a career to me. It was the life I deliberately chose to live. My career is the only thing I am best at. Writing.
And now I see how many signs there have been since I was a child. Yet, at no point did I consider it in retrospect during that time. Only my aunt, who would spend hours listening to me write music, seemed to see the potential (Cristina, I hope you’ll get back every second you spent listening to my words). I could easily say that, I performed my first poetry act while she was lying in bed, looking at something on her laptop. To this day I still pray she had an impressive attention span.
During high school, I was the target of every classmate who needed help with schoolwork. Particularly in literature. They saw me as a sort of walking library. No, seriously. The Alexandrian Library didn’t burn down. My ancestors implanted it in my mind.
What truly moved me, though, was the appreciation from my teachers — especially my English teacher, God bless her. If I have the guts, I’ll email her this piece so maybe she’ll know how much of an influence she had on my life. When it came to listening to me and what I had so loudly to say, she never disappointed me. She heard out every wild idea I had and always picked me to answer — probably because, let’s be honest, we both knew I was her most loyal student. By the end of my schooling years of service, I had to take an English proficiency exam. Having her there was the biggest encouragement I could have asked for. In total, I spoke for thirty-five minutes out of the allotted fifteen. All thanks to her attentive listening. Mrs. Ana (importance of protecting her privacy), by encouraging my free self-expression and allowing me to play around with writing, you helped me in finding my own voice and style. I loved every exam you had me take. Seriously. I am grateful that you saw my potential. Potential to speak freely, to pass all the exams, and to become someone. I miss our classes.
It’s said that the greatest ideas come to mind during those magical times when you’re stargazing and appreciating life’s beauty. For some people, sure. But for me? I was half-awake, struggling in the middle of the night to search for a glass of water. That’s when the amazing inspiration to start a blog came to me. Especially when I found myself cursing at the fridge for making some bizarre buzzing noises. Thought, “Wow, I’m really awesome with words”. Ah, life and its ways.
The idea began to sparkle brighter and brighter in my mind. Do I want to live a life full of poetry? Absolutely. After two days, I decided to “romanticise” my mental illness by posting about my experience online with the hopes of spreading awareness. Because what doesn’t kill you just makes you a better writer. Did it work? Well, if you’re reading this, then…
I write, because I talked to people and they belittled my feelings.
Yours truly, Nicolette.
