My Journey as a Writer

MY JOURNEY AS A WRITER
April 26, 2009

I just started writing seriously not for anyone but for myself. I pour out my pains, angst, and point of views, passions and shallow dreams in my journal. Pure and simple, I wrote from my heart- without being conscious of being criticize.

Ever since high school I always had a diary with me, but without a house of our own I lost it with my peripatetic life. I had been a member of high school publication thru accident. I was in my fourth year when I decided to transfer into a catholic school without my mother’s consent.

I mingled with peers exploring the benefits of alcohol and cigarette and felt guilty of it. I thought I had to change my world. So I did. I transferred myself to a catholic school in the same town and proudly wore a conservative uniform. Its long sleeves suited me. The blue long skirt which as prescribed by the nuns, “should be below the knee” gave me comfort. There were considerably few students compared to my old school, everyone knew each other. The first time in school during the flag ceremony, I had to mumbled prayers with the other entire student and mentors right there on the field, I don’t know the prayer though so I have to lip sync with the voice coming out of the big speaker.

It was 12:00 noon and I was on my way out when I heard that voice again requesting everybody to be still wherever they were and recited a prayer. I was on the lobby and it just felt so awkward standing there reciting a prayer, but I can’t leave either as there was a nun nearby. I thought I wanted another world but not in heaven.

So to avoid embarrassing moments and gave me time to memorize the prayers I always spent my time in the library, indulging myself in monstrous encyclopedias I so long to have. One time I was reading one of history books when a teacher came in with a group of students and sat at the desk where I was. Afraid to be noticed I stopped the urge to transfer to another table and sat still, pretending to read.

The teacher made the opening remark and presented the agenda. I realized I was accidentally joined in the meeting for writers club. The teacher, which maybe at her thirties was so fluent and smart I just stared at her adoringly. She stared back and told me I had to pass two articles one in Tagalog (our native language) and one in English. All articles will be considered in the selection of officers. I was so surprised I cannot speak, much as I want to inquire if somebody who was just reading in a library should be given an assignment too.

As I left the library I turned and saw the sign on the door: “Library will be privately used for Writers Club meeting from 12:00 NN – 1:00 PM”.

So that night I started to write. Not about my crushes and escapades but about Modernization and Industrialization. Two words I am not well adept maybe until now. Fortunately I had my cousin to edit. I submit it the following morning and totally forgot about it. The next Monday during the flag ceremony, familiar faces of classmates and teachers congratulated me. I just nodded in wonder. Do they have to congratulate a new student who was just attending a flag ceremony? Only to find out, when I passed by in the lobby, that I was appointed as the new Associate Editor in Chief of our high school publication.

It was an unexpected turned of event, but at that moment I felt welcomed, acknowledged to myself that I found my new world where I could start fresh and do well.

There started my personal writing career, I received the Best Writer Award during graduation and proudly kept it when I went to college.

College has been entirely different; I had been interested in the militants and activist in the campus that I wrote an article about them. One of my board mates happened to read it and submit it to the editor-in-chief in the college publication. The next thing I knew they were looking for the author of a two pages article with a very bad handwriting but well put ideas. I must admit my handwriting not so well but not that bad.

I continued my journey of being a trying hard writer. My few articles had been published, read and forgotten by fellow students. There was a time when about 20 military men had surrounded the nipa hut where I was staying inside the campus. One man fully armed forcibly opened the bamboo door and snatched my papers and drafts. It was the night of my birthday -I was eighteen. But instead of partying with my friends I was writing about student abused and being seized by military men.

The following morning I went to the police to report but unable to when I recognized one police to be one of the men who assaulted me. I realized I have no one to turn to and I must finish my study which was the very purpose of my existence in that campus. Thus I promised myself that I would focus on my studies and forget writing for a while.

I graduated, and said goodbye to my readers, but I always scribbled something on my journal. My writing focused on my personal life, my ups and downs, my dreams and unanswered prayers.

I discovered that I wrote well when my emotions were high. Lately I wrote a tribute to my friend, and let her read it. She was teary eyed- when she finished reading. I felt so proud, not for making her cry but for leaving a footprint in her heart.

That was what I always wanted and thought should be the purpose of writing. So I printed several copies’ and gave it to my officemates. I have not seriously taken verbal feedbacks but witnessed a difference in their attitude. They had been extra nurturing friends; they all wanted to mingle with Obelle the main character of my story because they knew from what they read how kind she is. I also saw the effort that they reaching out to me. I felt good, not because I can used it to my advantage but because I sent the message across, nurture and appreciate friendship while you can.

Now I continue my journey as a trying hard writer, not conscious of my readers, for there maybe none or few. I just wanted to write what I feel at the moment, for I know everyday offers a new opportunity that would change me from what I am now, for who I am and what I feel- one thing I am secured of, my present and past has been recorded.

Recently I joined in the writer’s online community at Writing.Com. For me it was the biggest leap in my life as a writer. I received few feedbacks not from friends who afraid to hurt my feelings but from writers neophytes and experts which provided sensible, organized and well thought reviews. Some did hurt me but pushed me to learn and improve my skills.

With this group, I am looking forward to a new chapter of my life as a writer.