Deep within my writing roots

I started writing when I was 12, as I leaned on a tree or sat on a rock in the middle of a field, watching over the sheep as they grazed before me. A contemporary shepherd with a notebook... Writing was allowing me to drown in my thoughts. I wrote mostly poetry. I also wrote about a lost love, a story for which the final words were never put down. And I wrote lyrics to songs that were never sang. I gathered hundreds of pages that I carried in a book with yellow and black stripes. That book was my beehive, filled with sweet thoughts and painful daggers. Everywhere I went, it came along. It was my past, my present, my future. It represented me. A whole lot of unfinished work. Suspended in time, waiting for the final period.

Ten years and many lines later, as I sat in a Chicago airport, in transit back to school after a summer break at home, I suddenly felt the burden of it all. Of this identity I had created for myself. I rested this decade-long work at the bottom of a trash can and looked back once as I walked away. Away from teenage sorrows and blurbs of unfulfilled love.

Letting go of that book relieved me for a while as I moved away from writing for myself. I tucked all those words and thoughts deep in my mind. Never once before today did I think that maybe, just maybe, someone saw the flashy colours amidst the discarded coffee mugs and picked it up. Did it make someone laugh, make someone cry? Or was it scattered by the wind in a far away landfill? Putting all this work in progress to rest was my final period.

I walked away and I moved on. A couple of years later, I graduated with very high honours from the University of New Mexico with a journalism and mass communications degree. And ever since, I have been writing. News articles, press releases, websites, marketing… Always selling someone else’s ideas. But I never went back to poetry. No more personal thoughts laid down on paper, no more self-contemplation.

I had great mentors over the years that lead me to enjoy playing with words, but at a very superficial level. I’ve reached greying ages and I see time is passing by with my dream of becoming an author slipping through my hands.

This website is a testimony to my old self. To the author I was to become. This is where I can publish my work, for myself. My me-pleasing words. A place where I can share my passion. Like it, hate it, please let me know. As long as it stirs emotions, or brings a flash in your mind, a spark in your heart or a squeeze in your gut. No matter what, I shall just keep writing for me and for whoever wants to read. I don't thrive on compliments, nor do I dwell on criticism. I'll simply enjoy reading every word you write and maybe, just maybe, it will fuel me to write more.

Follow me into my world, I certainly hope you’ll enjoy it!