Writing is an art, a way to list down your worries and thoughts into scribbles or majestic words, swaying your pencil like a brush painting a masterpiece. But there are different aspects about it. Some people, like me write for passion, to transport myself into another world I created. Others see it as another useless class, with assignments and write-ups with a naggy teacher. People like me adore writing assignments, don’t care if 6 entries are due for next week, we don’t complain about them. Because we like writing so much, how could we not? We take every chance we can get to practice this art, or so-believed “talent”.

My whole life I have lived talentless.

I never did anything above abnormal, never stood out from anything. Still until this day I say: “I don’t have a talent”.

“Yes you do!” they said.

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Writing! You are the best at writing”

“What? Writing is not a talent.” I snapped back.

As soon as they saw our art teacher they asked her about our discussion.

“Writing a talent? OF COURSE! Are you crazy? Literature is a fine art!” she answered.

Firstly, I was quite shocked. Was writing really a talent? Did I really have something I could do better than certain people? Secondly, it’s ludicrous to think that someone like me could have a talent. Yet, I’m still dubious if this counted as one. Could you go brag about your writing? Could you go to a talent show and read your writing out loud? Could you show it around?

Writing for me is full of intimate things, depending on what I’m are writing, I have trouble to share. I have this feeling that if people listen to my writing they are going to start thinking, “Does she really think stuff like that? Those ideas don’t make sense at all!”

I’ve never had any trouble with my writing. I enjoy going back to it and read what I wrote in the past and see how much I blossomed as a writer. But when I read it out loud, this beautiful crafted writing transforms into an abstracted creature that you may think is funny but in reality it’s really stupid and nobody likes it. Reading it out loud makes it real, I think this about me and then they are out there. My biggest fear is that some people may agree with me. I wonder if some may change their opinion about it after they hear me reading it out loud. That’s the trigger to make people feel your writing. You need to pour all of your emotions, expressions, pauses, volume, and character into reading it. Those things need to be transmitted to the audience listening. I don’t think I have that, but I do want to work on it. The thing is that I don’t even read my writing out loud by myself! Even alone I feel embarrassed about how I read it. I always wonder if it’s too much or if it’s too little am I exaggerating or do I need more exaggeration…

I have an automatic feeling that people will start judging me based on the things I write. God, she’s so stupid. Can someone stop her from writing please? I always wonder if my words do stick in someone’s head; if they are really processing my ideas and opinions fluidly.
My dream as a developing writer is to create something so meaningful and different for other people to relate to. To read my stories, poems, and essays and find a humble home where they are always welcome to stay. For them not to feel judged or questioned, find that there are other people, even writers, who feel the same way as they do.

Writing is an escape. It carries you far from reality into something more appetizing. A world where you’ll want to live in. Someone who you yearn to be. People you would die to be with. Everything you dream of, everything you imagine can be real on paper. It’s real for you and it’s real for the reader. They feel your emotions and your message, some may not fully agree with them but some will be there to appreciate them and savor them.

But for whom do we really write for? The audience? Your family? Friends? No, sometimes you just write for yourself, you write your ideas as if it was the absolute thought at the top of your head. But then again, who is our main judger? That’s right. Our own selves. Even without noticing we critique, question, judge, and under value our writing. You always wonder if your words make sense, if they are good enough. It only has to be good enough for you. If you believe in something to carry it all the way down the road, tall and pride of your work and success.

As much as I do think about it, I myself still can’t accept this. The one inside me, the one who judges me from the inside, the one I can’t leave behind, every day it reminds me about my mistakes. That little voice is always there to tell me that everything might go wrong instead of giving me the chance to think positively about the situation. It’s like I carry my own personal enemy around, eating me from the inside out. Every day I try to change my way of thinking and sometimes it works. When I get really good feedback from people I guess I get much more positive about my work, but then, subconsciously, I start thinking… What if they are just lying? Making me feel better about my work when it’s actually horrible? Pitying me as if I should be protected from harsh comments. If there were more constructive comments from people from my class, not only the teacher. I would think that they are actually trying to help me. That they are really processing my words on their head and re-reading them over and over again and see what I mean or what I want to portray through my flaw full and mixed up writing. I don’t need to be sugar coated, nobody does. It’s as if they are making a fool out of you, not taking you seriously. You share your thoughts of the inside for them to be respected not for them to be the punch line of every joke. There’re two types of personal insecurities. The outside one. Where everyone points out the obvious defects, as if they were a speaking mirror. Then the inside one. If you are unfortunate enough to have shared what you hold up inside most precious, you have given them the chance to find yet another way to make you feel more of a clown than what you already feel. Its way better not share, not to show any sign of vulnerability upon anyone. Everyone is your enemy, not just yourself. You don’t know what they think or feel towards you. It’s better not to give them any reason to. They don’t need to know anything about the other you, the one who is cast away from sunlight. Everything you say or show is used against you. To bury everything deep down to another world, the other you it’s safer, she’ll be okay alone.