Writing has been a part of me ever since I could hold a pencil. I just love to write, whether it is in a form of pen on paper or in a computer program. Writing to me, is like a form of healing. It allows me to escape from reality, leaving all the tension, hurt and pain behind, but sometimes, it is because of all these feelings deep inside of me that I am able to write better.
My dad has friends who are professional writers, and when I asked them what one had to have in order to be just like them, many of them said that one had to have a bag of emotions or research, and a capful of imagination. Well, I have emotions, everyone has them, and research was easy since we had internet. So my only problem was imagination. I never pictured myself as someone who could put my own imagination to good use. Yeah, I could form cloud bunnies, doodle and make up names for the monsters under my bed, but I just could not create stories with twists, a sense of humour or at the very least, with a frog prince. I wanted stories that mattered. However, the more demoralized I got about being a writer, the more I began to realize that writing had many forms and the one that I enjoyed most was not about the stories that I could create, but of rewriting the stories that I had already lived in. By writing down the things that I have experienced, I not only get to relive my happy and satisfying moments, but to also reflect and improve on myself whenever I check back and re-read on them.
Sometimes people tell me that I do not write like an eighteen year old or that I am too young to exaggerate my hate on the world. Well, all I can say is that from how my mum lived her childhood, from the news on the television, from the things I see with my very own eyes, I cannot help but conclude that the world is a nasty place. It is difficult, painful, complicated and ugly. Why? Because we lose the people we love dearly and also get hurt by them. We get judged based on our race, clothes, gender and size. Status is determined by the amount of money and power one has. However, the nastiest part of the world is of how hungry humans have become. No, I am not talking about the hungry children in third world countries. I am actually talking about those who ravenously feed on the latest scandal and gossips.
Our world is losing all the beautiful things that we once had. We rattle non-stop about love affairs, rapes and abuse, yet we hesitate about forwarding that email about an act of decency. What is this world turning into? It sickens me to realize how the crude and vulgar are more widely accepted through the internet, gossip, and television, as compared to the act of decency, love and humanity. We are pathetic. So how can I not hate the world?
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