I started writing during high school sophie year, when for the first time, I discovered that I have this pen-sliding power waiting to be cultivated. That time, I even rarely passed the screening set for aspiring writers of our HS paper called the Rosean Chronicle and felt the initial blow of having partially rejected. Partially because I was assigned to handle a not-so-significant slash extra-editorial-position called the Entertainment Section [I hear you say, interesting. Not exactly]. The following years, I saw myself in progression as I was tasked as the News Editor and finally Editor-in-Chief, respectively, during my last two years in Mystical Rose School of Caloocan, a seemingly young private semi-Catholic school near our residence.This was the first time that I attempt to trace my personal history as a writer. During our high school commencement, I was awarded 'Writer of the Year' which I credit to our [RC EdBoard] having published at least an issue which the batch ahead of us failed to do so.
Writing for me is life. I could still remember how I would keep, read, re-read [for countless times] and even share diaries where I religiously recounted minute-by-minute experiences: What I did in this subject and that. How many times I recited in class. How I compare my performance in class with the top students. What and where we ate [and who I ate with]. In other words, how I spent the day! I could not exactly remember though when I started scribbling and doodling in blank pages until I create a narration reflecting my train of thoughts.
College is a different story to tell. Leadership skills coupled with writing prowess can actually move mountains. I embraced the Campus Journalism Act of 1991 and inspired so well to initiate the foundation of the FEU Institute of Arts and Sciences the Paragon. I was Auditor-Editor of our batch in Council. That was in my junior year, but prior to this was the foundation of The Altruist, the official publication of the FEU Tamaraw Volunteers, my most fave organization.
But just like any passion, writing is a jealous mistress. It would require you to read, read, and read. But not only that, you must translate the products of your reading into words glamored with personal experiences. After all, the best book one could have is a book of life full of conversations and of silence, of encounters and agonies, of laughters and of sorrows.
As I grow up, I found comfort in writing as an activity as though finding a space of surrender & a zone of retreat. We have our ways of dealing with life's complexities, and writing becomes an avenue of self-expression. Whenever problems seem unbearable, a pen or a computer keyboard will surely lighten the load. I began expressing and channeling my thoughts of depression and sheer loneliness through the ostensibly powerless ink of the pen.
The pen has been my armor, a friend if I may call it. Many of us become so weak to express words esp. those which might hurt or disappoint others. Writers, for the most part, choose a better escape. We hide behind words masking our individuality with phrases and sentences waiting to be read. We reveal our emotions and agonies via letters and symbols so that when we face the world we are new. When we write, we allow people to understand us, to discover us in a pace which we ourselves set. But that does not mean we are cowards. While we create a labyrinth directing to the discovery of our greatest fears and mundane thoughts, we discover who our friends really are.
Or do we? Therapheutic writing can actually turn into a curse. While you heal in a singular basis, people tend to misjudge you. Writing can be misleading as it can be misinterpreted. But if there is one thing that I have learned in the past few days, it is that: a pen can never replace a friend. When we write down our emotions, we lessen the burden. It's theraphy. But when we open up with a friend, we tighten and deepen our relationship with him. Paper and pen cannot give us feedback. But a friend's mere presence is sometimes more than what we need.
While I write my life, I want you to read it. Not because YOU ARE my friend, but because I AM YOUR friend.
Because friends understand beyond spoken words. Will you?
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