The Writer, Unfolding
Untimely is an understatement. No one ever tells you when it will happen. Discovering that one has a penchant for words and the obsession with tugging soul strings was a slow and unromantic process for me. It started out simply as writing my daily journals when I was still a kid. The pages were filled with endless narrations of what I did and how the day went. There was the occasional bragging of my academic accomplishments (the nerd!), a couple of crushes mentioned, and the childish complaints of a young one who thought that the world was against him. The last one, no doubt, a product of watching too much soap operas. And then there were the yearly essays in school where the teacher required us to write on formal theme notebooks. At the start of every school year, my eyes would roll as the English teacher announced that the topic for the first formal theme entry was "What I Did In Summer." I might as well save myself the trouble and copy my essay from l...