I write?

I Write?

The start.

Writing is one of the four components in learning language. I had always been inclined to write. I guessed, my interest started when I was in my tween, although the term was coined then. Never an active girl, the only activity I indulged in was reading. Story books and newspapers became my companions. I guessed, it was the only natural step that I took to try writing my own stories, or more like compositions. Only few pages long and most of them were about my morbid fantasies of love and death. Puppy love, more like it.

Bold.

Writing allowed me to be bold. Yes, I was a timid girl. I still am, now, I think. With writing, I allowed my fantasies to come alive. I lived in them, sometimes. When I was young, in primary school, I was infatuated with a boy, who wasn't that friendly with me. I wrote our love stories, or wrote stories with characters based on him and his family, and sometimes me. I grew out of that after a while, luckily! When I was slightly older, I wrote about what I taught about my life, my family, my school teachers, friends, anything.

Diary.

I think it is safe to say almost every girls who could write, owned a diary at some point of their lives. I did, for a while. It was a thick hard cover, exercise book actually, my mother's, which she didn't use or got from school. My diary writing was weird. I wrote everywhere, anything. I didn't develop any system, not chronologically, topical, mood, nothing. The diary was a jumble of thoughts of anything and everyone or everything and no one. I had the perpetual fear of it getting discovered by my family members.

School.

I didn't write for school. Sadly. We didn't have a school magazine per se but we did have a biannual school magazine, where they would compile classes photos, groups photos, teachers, etc. For articles, teachers would select works from the students, real compositions written by students for classwork. During my last year, I was asked by my English teacher to write about my experience in school. I wrote what I felt, really, honestly, but she deemed it not fit for publication and so mine wasn't published. I didn't really enjoy my secondary school, in case you are wondering.

Dictionary.

Every writer would most likely have a favourite dictionary. I didn't. I could not be bothered to learn the meaning of new words or their spellings. Not sure why, though I did suspect that might be due to the fact that I didn't really learnt how to use the dictionary well at that time. I knew how to find words, but couldn't understand the pronunciation symbols (phonics, I found out later) and the word class. Maybe that's why my writing is a little stagnated, immature. Though, I use the available online dictionary and spell checks now.

When it matters most.

When it matters most, I wrote terribly. During exams, during tests, I would always be confronted with a case of writers' block. I wouldn't be able to write beautiful sentences, vivid stories or meaningful compositions. Nor could I bring in-depth analytically writing to sense. My writings always brought down my performances. I could get praises for classwork writings, though. Always.

Inconsistent handwriting.

In secondary school, my handwriting became inconsistent. I would start writing something in beautiful handwriting. As I went forth, it would slowly turn into scribbles. Once it was so bad that teacher actually cautioned me about it. I was most relief when I started typing. It saved me lots of embarrassment.

Now.

I try to write now, but only here. I was writing quite ferociously here quite a while back, but somewhat lost that fire. The quality of my writes also reflect that downhill pattern.