I’ve got a few friends who’ve praised my IQ and called me smart. First off, I don’t know how to accept compliments, I deny that I’m smart. I just have good grasping skills, or I think, at least. But why did they even say that?
I told them I read my first book in Kindergarten. It was a copy of Aesop’s fables, that my mother had bought for me when I was four. I even recall someone asking, “Did you even know how to read?”. I said, “why not?”. I got interested in that book because of the pictorial illustrations at first. But pictures only half explained what my kindergartener brain was looking for. Words alone satisfied my craze.
And I haven’t stopped reading ever since.
My mother instilled this habit of reading in me. And then there is my father. My father is a coach who does not play. He doesn’t partake interest in reading, though I’ve relentlessly tried to get him to read any of those novels I got interested in. But he keeps reminding me to devote time to read, come what may. How ironic, isn’t it?
I was maybe 10, when I wrote my first piece of writing (At this point, I feel I’m writing an autobiography). It was a short story I’d written from a prompt given in English class. Never was I so satisfied with something I myself created.
I thought I should work on writing more. But, I hit a demotivating slump where I was “afraid” to write. So I gave up. I read even more for the next 2 years.
My vocabulary had increased, due to repetitive and vigorous reading. Books were somehow so telepathic, I felt so lost in that realm of endless adventures. I felt more confident in expressing myself. I began writing a diary. Over time, my words had become better than where they were before. But since I was more into reading back then, I kept on reading.
The real turning point was when the pandemic began. I suddenly felt so lonely. I had nowhere to go. From a very sociable person, I had gone to a confused state where I could not find oblivion. I needed to let all of these feelings that had accumulated all this while. I needed to write.
I wrote a blog post for the first time.
It was a post about being mentally happy and fit, something I myself needed. I wrote about mental health and self-love on my first blog. It concluded after publishing 10 posts on it. I fell into thought.
There wasn’t much more I could write about mental health. I was out of ideas, and I wasn’t fueled by passion anymore.
That’s it, if I don’t want to do it, I wouldn’t do it. I bid goodbye to the blog. Over a few months, I worked on a brand new blog, which is this one, where I would never run out of things anymore. Where creativity had no boundaries.
I swore to myself that I would try to improve with every piece of writing. Out of all the posts I’ve written for this blog, all of them aren’t my best. Some were good and some weren’t. But I’m who I am, with all my faults. Just like Kim Nam-Joon said. My faults and failures make me.
My past gives me lessons to learn from, my present gives me energy to move on and my future gives me something to look forward to. Words just tie them all up.
Words have been the most beautiful gifts given to this world. I’m grateful, that words have owned me. I don’t own them. I just act as a medium for words to flow, and the emotions just weave themselves.
Why I share this to you all is because, just as how I was so deeply impacted by words and became someone new, it can change you too. My best advice, read and express.
Who am I to give advice, you say? I’m a fourteen year old girl with aspirations of being someone different. Words help me absorb and reimagine every single moment I’ve ever had. My life till now gives me lot to learn. And my life feels like a life. I’ve got just enough experience to say this.
So here was a story I was excited to share since a real long time. I was so restless ever since I finished this draft and I couldn’t wait for the weekend to come and present this to everyone. Also because this is the 35th post I make on the blog and my first one after hitting a 100 follows on the blog.
But what exactly is wrong? Why all of a sudden such posts, essays and writings and what’s with all of the non humor? I just thought that the posts on this blog aren’t exactly what I would call “quality content”. So I’ve decided to put some more effort, throw in a few *fancy words*, and write more thoughtful posts. I understand that many readers won’t be too jumpy about this and there would be low stats for sure, but at the end of the day, it’s about quality.
Not-so-daintily loving you,
P.S.- My September month report is ready! Take a look at it!