Writing and Regrets
I can't remember when I fell in love with writing. If I go back and dig my earliest memory of writing, it's when I was in high school—my senior year. I did not accidentally discover the joy in writing by that time. It was a subject requirement. A weekly journal. I had to write my assignment or else I get a low grade, a thing I never wished for.
I recall that after high school, I kept a journal with me. But this time, it's no longer a subject prerequisite that I had to pass every Monday in our Religion class. I didn't have to make up stories just so I could write something for my teacher to grade. This time, it's for my own interest. I could write my thoughts without being compelled to. There was no pressure. No obligation. No fear (to get an average or failing grade). There was only one vital thing I discovered—FREEDOM; freedom for my heart, my thoughts, my soul.
I would like to think that this was the genesis of my love for writing. Perhaps. All I can remember is that, that journal was full of thoughts for my "first love" whom I met in high school. The journal was all about the boy. It was dreams about him I had in some nights. It was about a bleeding heart. It was about the hope of a wounded soul yearning to reunite with a lost love. Sounds corny (yikes). Nonetheless, at the time of this writing, I just realized that the thing that served as a vessel for me to uncover the beauty of writing is... "love."
In was in my college years that my passion for writing blossomed—like the flowers on springtime. It was the best years of my fascination for writing. I joined several essay writing contests both in and out school and unfailingly brought home the bacon. I led our school paper for four consecutive years and always had the privilege to write the editorial page and write a feature story if I wanted to. I wrote articles for a local newspaper during my on-the-job training (OJT), and at one time fearlessly and vehemently criticized our school administration for an act that was displeasing to the students. I was so happy to see that article one morning in the newspaper. Thanks to the publisher, I owed him a favor. However, that article ignited the wrath of some people who felt attacked of what I wrote. From then on, these people treated me with dislike. What I did and the things I wrote made me realized how powerful writing is, what it can do to a person, a group of people, even to the world. It can either explode a person like a bomb or melt the heart of a callous man.
Regrets and Lesson
If there's one thing I regret with my love for writing, it's my negligence to keep the treasures that remind me of the past. I regret that I didn't keep with me the the physical representations of the things I wrote before. I threw away the journal, or maybe burned it. I do not have personal copies of the essays I wrote for contests. I did not care to preserve school papers published during my years of service. Not even copies of articles I wrote during my OJT. I wished I kept what I had worked hard for. I wished I cared to diligently gather those material things, not for collection sake, but to somehow help me recall the past thoughts of my heart. Sometimes, it's nice to reminisce the past. At times, reading what you've written in the past serves as a comfort and nourishment for the present and the future.
I was too careless and I've learned my lesson.
