A memory is like a broken record player. Constantly playing over and over as it lives in the back of my mind. A part of me would want it to stop but the other allows it. It’s a sensation I yearn for but could never recover. The random urges in the middle of the night as the deja vu kicks in feels amazing, almost as if I'm allowing myself to float on this cloud of freedom. But for a memory is also like a book, a story that has been read and left on the shelf for another.
I’ll be telling you a part of me I wish to redeem as I sit in the mirror and tell my journey. Have you ever wondered how a woman like me decides she wants to be a writer? What action brought us to the discovery of wanting to do such a thing? Let me voice mine.
The night almost felt like snowfall, a sound so enduring once you close your eyes you’ll understand why. A bored sigh left my lips as I scrolled mindlessly through my phone, almost zombie like. It was the Covid era, 6th grade and online school. Miserable as I felt alone but I couldn’t lie when I said I felt at peace. Back then I loved my alone time, it was a moment I got to fully understand me for me. Weird to know the girl I watched grew up still held many things hidden from the world, from me. Umbrella Academy and Maze Runner were my shows back then, guess I can say I built who I am off of those I watched.
The chilly air brought me ease as I shifted to find a better position, laying on my side as I chuckled at some dumb POV video. I loved those things. I used to be so invested in the storylines, so dedicated to stay up and scroll for what happened next.
I guess I should’ve seen the signs there.
I think it was destiny, I mean everything happens for a reason, does it not? The accidental slide of me heading onto some randos account and they had this stupid stupid link I couldn’t resist.
Wattpad.
Man, that changed my life forever.
That girl, that young girl I wish I could tell that it was made for her. That one accident was made to happen and now look where we stand. The desire to just write will never not be strong. Something about writing, something about the laughter and excitement it brings to just put words on a sheet might be criminal.
“C’mon just write, it’s words on a sheet of paper.” But it’s not that easy.
I remember staying up late nights reading, reading and enjoying my 12 year old self. Wow, 3 years ago and it still burns in a good way. The amount of times I skipped online class just so I could read, I set myself up for an adventure I wasn’t prepared for.
Look, I know I'm blabbering but I’m just trying to make this experience have the value it deserved to have. This was a life changing understandment for me, it was a piece I realized was missing. Reading was never my thing, I think maybe it was the type of books my family read that never interested me, or the school books that lay on the shelves untouched because it wasn’t my taste in style. Additionally and disappointingly to say... they were boring. Books?! Boring?! Hell, the book gods would’ve shut me up right there if they had heard such a thing. I even made a poor excuse for trying to write fanfics. I wanted to do things like that so badly, it was an obsession, a desire I could never feel satisfied with. But one thing I must say that also stood out was my maladaptive daydreaming, a tactic that brought out my scenery. I can’t help but thank the little girl who cried over fanfics, cried over her imagination that she herself was able to pull and make it real.
Do you get it now? Do you see the connection? Every writer had to start somewhere, every reader had to begin from the beginning. I remember her trying to write her first book, struggling and staying up all morning and night just to leave it for something else. It wasn’t easy and it’s still not now.
“Is it really worth it?” The voice in the back of my head questions. It’s a dependable one, a moment of hesitation. But some days when I’m in too deep, I can’t help but think of her, my sweet girl. One day I'll be famous for her.
I’ll be telling you a part of me I wish to redeem as I sit in the mirror and tell my journey. Have you ever wondered how a woman like me decides she wants to be a writer? What action brought us to the discovery of wanting to do such a thing? Let me voice mine.
The night almost felt like snowfall, a sound so enduring once you close your eyes you’ll understand why. A bored sigh left my lips as I scrolled mindlessly through my phone, almost zombie like. It was the Covid era, 6th grade and online school. Miserable as I felt alone but I couldn’t lie when I said I felt at peace. Back then I loved my alone time, it was a moment I got to fully understand me for me. Weird to know the girl I watched grew up still held many things hidden from the world, from me. Umbrella Academy and Maze Runner were my shows back then, guess I can say I built who I am off of those I watched.
The chilly air brought me ease as I shifted to find a better position, laying on my side as I chuckled at some dumb POV video. I loved those things. I used to be so invested in the storylines, so dedicated to stay up and scroll for what happened next.
I guess I should’ve seen the signs there.
I think it was destiny, I mean everything happens for a reason, does it not? The accidental slide of me heading onto some randos account and they had this stupid stupid link I couldn’t resist.
Wattpad.
Man, that changed my life forever.
That girl, that young girl I wish I could tell that it was made for her. That one accident was made to happen and now look where we stand. The desire to just write will never not be strong. Something about writing, something about the laughter and excitement it brings to just put words on a sheet might be criminal.
“C’mon just write, it’s words on a sheet of paper.” But it’s not that easy.
I remember staying up late nights reading, reading and enjoying my 12 year old self. Wow, 3 years ago and it still burns in a good way. The amount of times I skipped online class just so I could read, I set myself up for an adventure I wasn’t prepared for.
Look, I know I'm blabbering but I’m just trying to make this experience have the value it deserved to have. This was a life changing understandment for me, it was a piece I realized was missing. Reading was never my thing, I think maybe it was the type of books my family read that never interested me, or the school books that lay on the shelves untouched because it wasn’t my taste in style. Additionally and disappointingly to say... they were boring. Books?! Boring?! Hell, the book gods would’ve shut me up right there if they had heard such a thing. I even made a poor excuse for trying to write fanfics. I wanted to do things like that so badly, it was an obsession, a desire I could never feel satisfied with. But one thing I must say that also stood out was my maladaptive daydreaming, a tactic that brought out my scenery. I can’t help but thank the little girl who cried over fanfics, cried over her imagination that she herself was able to pull and make it real.
Do you get it now? Do you see the connection? Every writer had to start somewhere, every reader had to begin from the beginning. I remember her trying to write her first book, struggling and staying up all morning and night just to leave it for something else. It wasn’t easy and it’s still not now.
“Is it really worth it?” The voice in the back of my head questions. It’s a dependable one, a moment of hesitation. But some days when I’m in too deep, I can’t help but think of her, my sweet girl. One day I'll be famous for her.