Why Words?

Today is somewhat of a 7th anniversary of my professional journey as a writer—or an editor now. 

And this all because 13-year-old me had a crush and just chose to write a letter—that never saw the day of light. The reader in me just never fathomed the idea of writing until that very day. 

How cliche those couple of lines were—an ode to a fleeting crush. I never planned to let anyone see it—not even the person it was written for. Those lines were for me. And well, the freedom that ensued was somewhat cathartic. But that fleeting moment gave me a world full of so much I could do, just with mere words.

My words danced as love songs and small phrases sprinkled across my textbooks. But my wretched bookworm heart! Never satiated. It all faded in comparison to all that I have read. I guess small old me went through a writer's block without knowing what it was. And thus began the stupid habit—as my mother would love to call it—of penning down everything. I had a good day? It has to be written. A bad day? Well, that was something I surely must pen down.

Four years! Diaries and notebooks filled with words and I just couldn't understand what was wrong. And then I found my cure. The very thing that started it all! A dusty notebook and a god-awful letter that just made sense. So I wrote it again—editing way before I ever thought to be an editor.

The gates flew open! A barrage of poems, and whatnot. Suddenly I had too much to write, too little time. And now it's a ritual of sorts. I feel stuck, and I bring back the 13-year-old me to the forefront. 

And to think, I wouldn't have started if I had the courage to go and talk to a crush. Well, here I am thanking my younger self for not having the courage that one time. After all, it gave me the courage to fight for my words.

It was just meant to be. A soulmate kind of connection, if you will. 

Me. 

My Words. 

And my colors—a story for another time, I guess!