Sometimes, I forget that writing my thoughts here get read
publicly and when I bump into people and they share they like my blog I can
help, but feel exposed. The thing is
that I’ve always been a writer- since I learned to write I've kept a journal. I am the youngest of four and my brother who
is closest to me in age is seven years older than I am. Being the baby in the family by so many years
apart I spent a lot of time playing alone.
Though my siblings loved me – they always made it known that I was the
youngster and at times they didn’t want anything to do with me because of the difference
in maturity. I think that’s probably
what lead me to become quite introspective.
To this day most of my world happens in my mind- if that makes any
sense. While I lead a pretty active
social life I love being alone. As weird
as it might sound I enjoy my company a lot.
In fact when I am with my family I think I am more the listener of the
group. My mom and my sister can talk up
a storm- there are times when we go for long walks and I think I say no more
than ten words. At times when I am
sharing an experience with them I have to tell them to let me finish my story
because they are so anxious to talk themselves.
In addition, I shared before that as a child I struggled because of my lack of the English Language- well when I did start to speak English my
classmates made fun of me because some sounds came out with an accent. I remember being laughed at because
phonetically I couldn’t pronounce the “ch” sound and children laughed when I
said, “chair” or “chocolate” (which are very popular words when you are a
child). I was a shy kid with a whole lot happening at home so I began to avoid speaking.
Yet, when I had the opportunity to write things down and not worry about
pronunciation I relished the freedom.
I am yet to find a listener that puts up with me as paper
does. Growing up, I was always the
outcast. I remember we lived on a street
of apartments with a bunch of my cousins and you would think that family would
have been kinder to my assimilation struggles, but my cousins too wouldn’t want
to play with me because I didn’t speak English.
Then I started excelling in school and books became my passion, which in
the ghetto being a bookworm is not the most popular status to have. Thus, my formative experiences led me to
writing as an outlet and a way to have conversations on topics and ideas that
others found quite boring. For the
greatest part of my life I didn’t think anyone was interested in listening to
me since the subjects I preferred seemed as weird as me. It took a lot of therapy to find my voice and
while now I am a pretty good conversationalist I still have a great need to
write. When I speak things come out
wrong and usually I say things without thinking, but when I write I see the
words in mind so clearly. Am also unafraid
to share things because I feel like I am just talking to me or (since my
conversion) to God.
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When I was in university, I came across my favorite myth in
mythology class The Epic of Gilgamesh. In the
tale Gilgamesh wants immortality and goes on a quest to find it, after
conquering many battles and learning his weakness (and mortality) he realizes that the only way
to become immortal is by becoming a legend, one that future generations will
continue to share. At the time I was
agnostic and battling the whole purpose
of life notion and since I didn’t believe in life after death (then) this
idea of remaining alive through the power of story really attracted me. I found solace and for a time it guided me
into wanting to write books and stories so that one day I too would be remembered
and maybe then my life would have meaning.
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Now as a practicing Catholic I write privately letters to
God. Most of the time I do this during
adoration. It calms me and makes me
really concentrate on the conversation I am having with my God. Also, when I am experiencing really difficult
moments I write in my journal and I know that God is listening. When I decided to start a blog – I felt the
need to write not to become a legend, but to help readers with my honest testimony. Thus, almost a year later I still have my
moments when I feel like I shared too much or even worry about what others will
think of me, but the need to write is stronger.
I wanted to create this place to help others, but no one has been more
improved than me. Some people run,
others create I write - end of story (smile).
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