If I look back, I can’t make out what I did all these years, but I’m happy to be an avid reader and a passionate writer. Perhaps I started writing, just to feel less restless, but now I am incomplete without the words I write. This might seem ubiquitous, but it is not!
I’m am just another person, wanting to write something new every day for no reason, except to express myself. Writing is innocuous, maybe that’s the reason I chose it over my other interests. I write when I’m filled with emotions when vanity hits me when stress makes me anxious. I just write! I recuperate, I write for no reason, but all the time I’m craving to write.
If I read my old write-ups, I feel like scratching everything out. I can’t accept that it is unconventional to lament over those dull, sunken pieces. I always have qualms about what I’m writing. So, I edit it daily.
Sometimes, I admonish myself if I am unable to write. But, in vain! I then understand, I write to survive, and I survive to write. I’m not sure if I’ll become a good writer. But I’m sure one day I’ll become better than who I’m today. With some encouraging platforms like YKA, I’ll continue to quench my thirst for writing.