Greetings, mere mortals!

It has been a while since I post an actual adequately written blog post. I have been slacking on blogging but what can I do? School is just way too cool, I can’t resist the temptation. I have to hang out there all the time, you know?

Anyway, it’s Friday and I am so excited for this week to be over, but I’m definitely not excited for next week, which will encompass my last batch of exams, articles, and final papers. Thankfully, that means no classes during finals week! Huzzah!

Obligatory life update aside, let’s bring the conversation to what this post is actually about. I am writing a post about writing. I know. So meta, right.

Over the past few months I have been overwhelmed with papers, articles, tests, and short-answer-response assignments. One thing they all have in common is their written form. This should come as an excitement to me, right? I mean I do love to write. It is what I aspire to do, so I basically have nothing to complain about, right? Wrong. I’m human. I complain. You’re going to read my complaints. Deal with it (abandon hope, all ye who reads this!).

Over the past few months I have done a lot of writing, but not so much leisure writing. As you whoever follows this blog knows, there has been a shortage of poems and blog posts and whatever other written shenanigans I usually post. This bothers me. Not because I’m worried of losing followers or “relevance” if I don’t keep up with content or anything, but because I feel like I’m losing touch with my love for writing. Each of the aforementioned written assignment has its own rules, and rules are by its very nature, constricting. Of course, I can’t do anything about it, I just have to suck it up and do what I got to do.

But I do miss leisure writing. I miss the pleasure of stringing words together to form sentences. I miss looking up words in the dictionary cause I’m not sure what they actually mean, or typing sentences into Google to see if the grammar is correct (good grammar and vocabulary comes with a price guys). I miss doing all of the above voluntarily. I miss not having to receive my writing back with scribbled notes in the margins. But most importantly, I miss loving writing. The satisfaction, the freedom. The tucking and tugging and polishing of the commas, the periods, and the pretentious semi-colons.

Why do I write? I write to draw lines in the world I live in. I write to learn about what I’ve learned. I write to share what I’ve learned. I write so I can say what I want to say without having no one interrupt me. I write so that I can make my message heard in the best possible, near-perfect way. Isn’t it humbling to know that we as humans have such imperfections in our daily lives - the way we walk and talk and think and do - so much so that the only way we can say exactly what we want to say in the best possible way is when we scribble it, polish it, and nip-and-tuck it? For me, it’s humbling to be reminded that I can’t plan my moments and dialogues. It’s humbling to know that life will never be as perfect as it is in writing. But then, it’s comforting to know that I can write. That I can plan moments and dialogues when I’m writing them. That I can have these little moments of perfection as an escape from this disorganized world we live in.

But that’s not all. When I write, I express myself so that others can learn as I have. There’s a beauty to the vulnerability one shows when one puts the abstract thoughts into something as tangible as the written word. This vulnerability is what invites the readers on a journey into the writer’s thoughts. In turn, the readers will emerge from that journey with their own thoughts, their own ideas, but nevertheless influenced by the writer’s words.

But then again, what if no one’s reading? Who cares? I mentioned above that I write to learn what I’ve learned (meta-learning. I’m all about the metas today). This is another reason why I love writing, it allows me to reflect. Who cares if others learned anything from what I’ve got to say? Who cares if there are any “others” at all? In the end, when I write something, the one who will reap the most of whatever I sow is myself. Period.

So yes, I’ve contradicted my own argument with that last paragraph, my thesis is unclear, and the structure is incorrect; what, no inverted-triangle introduction? No rectangular body of arguments? No triangle-structured conclusion? Guess what? No one’s gonna scribble those comments on the margins of this post.