Back in grade school and high school, I was never the girl who writes, nor the one who reads, but I got a love affair with words.
It started with rejection. The time when my third grade teammate reiterate my failure in misspelling a word that made our group lose the class competition. It’s that rainy Saturday of April when somebody I considered close to me told me I wasn’t pretty and I smell odd. It’s one afternoon at the rehearsals where one of the members of the group I’m leading blatantly refuses whatever I say about the sequencing of the play.
It started with the feeling of being out of place. When I met with a new group of friends who can’t entertain my existence in a discussion of a matter I’m not familiar with. When I entered a room full of strangers and no one dared to shake my hand and welcome me in. When I dressed up for the occasion to which I was not particularly invited to.
It started with weakness – of feeling inadequate, unsure, uncertain of other things I can do to be socially accepted.
Bad things come into three and so do good things. From the time of rejection, the feeling of being out of the boat with my shaky knees and teary eyes, it took someone who gave me a tap at the back and told me something that somehow erased my doubts. It took all the promises I had to read from Ephesians, Psalms, Jeremiah, Matthew, Proverbs or anywhere in the Bible, the promises from the One who could give my heart the stillness in the midst of chaos. It took words to get me through the sandstorms in the desert of self-pity and loneliness.
Later on, I found out that my love for words can flourish by: flipping through pages of adventure from different chapters of a book; or, slow dancing with my emotions from the core of my heart with the pen in my hand. Hence, I became the girl who reads and the girl who writes. Through it, I was exposed. It brought the birth and the continuous growth (in terms of content) of this blog. I wanted to vent out all my thoughts – on hope, faith, joy, grief, love, failure, life, God, or whatever else – and somehow, by doing so, hoped to make a little impact on someone’s life. The little impact that can be an entry point in planting seeds of trust (even just a mustard) to Someone Up There who makes everything happen for a reason.
And I want to tell you that I have always (and still am) insecure about people reading my stuff. Because, even though it is probably not a wise choice on my part, I write with my heart on my sleeve.
Yes, I was and still is insecure, but courage makes you do things as crazy as what you can do for love. I’m clueless if what I’m doing really matters to anyone (or even to just one someone) in cyberspace. I got no idea if I’m making any difference or if I am able to touch the depths of someone’s soul. But I got to thank those few who had been generous enough in giving me their appreciation, affirmation and support in this endeavor. My inner child in me always feels like being rewarded with an ice cream (triple chocolate, of course) every time I would hear those encouraging words. You might start to notice how much I value words. It’s kinda like my love language.
I still won’t know my impact nor my contribution to World Peace because of this blog, however, one thing’s for sure: I got to say what I got to say. There’s too much hope one could give to one’s self. :)
And with all these, I will end with my late Moodboard for August: Wake Up and Live. Wake up, do something for yourself, start over, make a move, live. :)