I Could've Been a Duck But I Guess I'm a Writer

I have a hard time getting my thoughts across simple words, or simply constructed sentences to be exact. Sentences that'll tell you my intentions, my feelings, in an instant. Maybe it's because writing feels entirely different and more complex than a conversation, where the context will usually be picked up in speed. Writing feels more confronting, as if every word you leave behind gawks down at you, expectant of a revelation, an answer or conclusion- but you almost never have it yet.

Because I'm a dreadfully long-winded writer and speaker, it becomes hard to not procrastinate when writing an essay or review on a personal opinion or recent media I consumed. And this pains me because I want to share my thoughts with the world even when it feels like smiling back to a faceless night sky in return. Sometimes soothing, but sometimes lonely.

Yes, I have written for external validation. I have also written with the motive to change others' perception of me to be a clever and opinionated girl, above my social shortcomings that I've since struggled to overcome. I have written just so I can put on my writer's badge on display and have a sense of pride in something, anything. Writing at some point, became an escape. You can even call it a comfort zone of sorts. Because in my words, I get to create my own world. And in my world, I am it's protected child, not the anti-hero who's insufferably human when of all things she could've just been a duck. A duck flapping by the pond with a breadcrumbs buffet at every old lady's morning walk. Looks fun enough.

I wish I wrote for a greater purpose, than just be absorbed to my own musings and biases when there is so much more to know and love so deeply that my words can only weep at the ineffable beauty of it all. I'm sure any writer has an aspiration like I do- to find what their pens will endlessly bleed ink for, but the difference is set on those who endure the ordeals of blank pages, invalidated ideas and the disbelief from others and even yourself that yes, you don't write for a living but you write to live. And it isn't as simple as breathing is it not?