I Write What I Think, Thank You Very Much

A lot of people think that writing’s just about throwing in words together and showing off how knowledgeable or cool they are. To them, writing is about just presenting the same content in fancier words so people go, “Ah, you have so much talent that you deserve a Nobel Prize in creative writing, buddy!” 

I have literally heard people say stuff like, “Oh, to me, when I write, it’s like I’m creating a picture. My writing is a painting and my words are the colours.” 

Some also say, “I want to show my depth to the world and I want to present oodles of my creativity to them!” 

Outwardly, I say, “Oh, that’s nice.” 

But inwardly, I’m cringing. 

Because when I write, I never feel like I’m a Picasso or Da Vinci of writing. I don’t feel like I’m doing something highly important or I’m doing something so phenomenal that nobody else can ape me. Simply put, I just don’t feel ‘cool’ about myself when I frame sentences. 

To me, writing is simply the art of verbally expressing oneself. 

Now, you would go, “Who are you to give some advice on writing? Who do you think you are, some sort of a creative writing expert? You aren’t even doing an English major!” 

I know that I am not at all great at creative writing and there’s no way in hell I’m denying the fact. But I also cannot deny the fact that I do enjoy writing whenever I can and I love reading. 

So, as someone who tries to observe and read between the lines, I do have a vague idea as to how to write. 

I’ve been writing stories, poems and articles since I was around eleven-and-a-half. 

Okay, I wrote stupid poems when I was ten, for Christmas parties at school, but that’s not the point. 

However, I actually started writing since I was an eight-year-old with a broken knowledge in English. Ten years ago, I began writing by writing about my feelings and my thoughts. 

I still have the Powerpuff Girls’ diary wherein I described every person I knew and categorized them according to the kind of relationship they had with me. I still have the buttercup diary given to me by my uncle when I was nine, where I wrote all the ‘special incidents’ that happened to me. You can clearly see the oh-so-candid characterizations, the oh-so-tragic rants about my mother not inviting my friends for my birthday parties and the oh-so-crazy fun-times I had with my family in both the books.

My diaries 

Ever since I had a bit of a grasp on English, I started writing and expressing myself. 

What else could you do, really, when you were in my position? I was a small kid, with a working mother, who had to struggle with her job and taking care of me (especially because I was in a private school that was far away from my house). I was a small kid whose dad couldn’t be around, no matter how hard he tried. I was a small kid, with grandparents who were struggling to adjust to the newly dawning millennia. I was a small kid, who had no kids her age and background to talk to in her neighbourhood. 

Even as a kid, I was hyper-hyper-hyper sensitive. I had dozens of overwhelming thoughts and there was no freaking way that I could tell them to my family (because they were too busy or they clearly dismissed my insecurities as nothing spectacular). 

Unlike a lot of my peers, who would internalize their thoughts and emotions, I was someone who had to let it out. Every day, a million thoughts cross my mind and I feel better about myself only when I voiced out myself. 

So naturally, writing was a fantastic way to cope with my emotions. 

As I grew older, I branched out. I started writing short stories, fanfiction, poems (where rhyming was never a priority) and later on, started blogging.

I really enjoyed tweaking with words, creating new (undoubtedly crazy) worlds and I immensely enjoyed laughing and penning it all down. 

Most of all, writing made me feel like I was at peace with myself. I felt like I’d hit a new high whenever I’d write something. I felt organized when I could finally unscramble all the thoughts on my mind to create something that made sense – sense to me. 

What about writing for someone else?

Even if I want to write for someone else, I always, always try to make sure that what I am trying to say makes sense to them. 

To me, writing for someone else is trying to make sure that that person can go through the same emotions that I felt when I wrote that piece. To me, writing for someone else is to make them to think, “THAT HAPPENED TO ME TOO!” and remember their experiences. Most importantly, to me, writing for someone else is for them to think whether what I’m saying makes sense or no. 

Yet, no matter how close that person is to me, the content what I write must be something that I strongly believe in. 

Although a lot of people accuse me of being a smarmy sweet-talker, I will ALWAYS write what I FEEL about. Because, like I said before, I always write my feelings and thoughts. 

Yes, I have gone to the stereotypical ‘wannabe author’ way and wrote texts wherein I write about ‘girly’ romances. But I won’t regret them. Ever. 

Yes, I have written things that have ruffled feathers. Sometimes, I wrote stuff that people took negatively and went batshit crazy on me, to the point that our equation went for a toss. 

All those people don’t know is the fact that I would have told them to their faces what they did didn’t sit well with me and I would have ended it face-to-face and I wouldn’t have resorted to writing cattily about them anywhere. 

But you know what? I don’t care about all of that anymore. What I have learned in the past few years is that there are some facets where in you have to think about your views more than anyone else’s. 

So, if any aspiring writer is offended about me writing about writing, then I am not sorry. I am not sorry about writing what I truly feel. 

Stay awesome as ever,

Much love,

Archie <3