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Am I a writer by choice or my disappointments make me one?


I was a super active kid in school, I would dance, sing, act, speak, debate, recite, lead teams, get the best grades but I would write only for the hand-writing competitions. In college, there was hardly any event that I was not a part of. But I was always on the set, managing stuff, running around the college campus to get things done.

I never thought I could write. I would dump the content-related work on other team members.

Duh, I wasn’t even considered to be the who’s going to write.


Over the years, life became challenging, relationships started failing, loved ones started drifting away, life choices weren’t as simple as they used to be, and every action had a higher intensity reaction. 


Even after being a social butterfly, I couldn’t find people who would listen to me without any judgments hence, being a solution-oriented person, I started to vent out on a piece of paper. Because I just had to vent out, I never used to structurize what I was writing into an introduction, body, and conclusion, I rather focussed on pouring my heart out. 


So every time I used to be upset or shit went down, I would scribble. I would scribble to a point till it’s gone. A paper and pen nearly replaced my need for a human support system. 


Did it become my way of communicating? Or does that make me a bad communicator? Well, I never cared enough. 


Nothing that I wrote was personal or a secret. I have always been an open book, ask me and I’ll tell you all of it. Eventually, my friends told me or rather hyped me to start posting, they felt that what I write is what everyone goes through and I should be heard. I didn’t mind that at all, I mean in this world where no one cares what you have or don’t have to say, I would be elated if anyone paid attention.


While we are at attention issues, I myself started paying attention to the way I write, what do I write about, when I can, and when I cannot write. As a result, I can safely (not joyfully) conclude that I write when I am disappointed, disappointed to an extent when I have given up on people/things/situations. I am overwhelmed with emotions and there is no light at the end of the tunnel. Nothing that I am left with is worth fighting for or maybe worth fighting for but not worth the drama. Is this what a writer does? 


Am I even a writer by choice or my disappointments make me one?






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