Will Write for Food

Kidding aside, that picture could have been literally me…

If the universe didn’t send good coincidences and people who made it possible for me to make a living being a writer. 

What fascinates me the most, is whenever a new acquaintance asks what I do for a living, and I say “I’m a writer”, I’d get the second-guessing look followed by a question that goes, “You make money out of it?”

Yes, I do make decent money being a writer. Enough to pay my travels, to feed myself, to do charity from time to time, and stay afloat at least. Hell, I can now buy cheesecake when I like!

I have so many tales of failures, heartbreaks, self-doubts and rejections after rejections. But there was no way that I was going to give up the only thing that I knew I loved. 

I had no connection. No college degree. Nothing. Actually, I did not know what I was doing. Haha!

I grew up in a slum where every bit of someone’s dream could die before realizes it. 

All I had was guts. A shit load of it. 

Enough guts that I told myself when all I started all these big ambitions that no matter how many rejections I get, I WOULD MAKE IT. 

Then somehow, the past ten years made me realize how God sent hundreds — if not thousands — of opportunities, tiny and big, that led life to what it is for me now. 

If it didn’t work out, I would be on the streets with a cardboard sign that says, Will Write for Food.

My not-so-cultured version of my younger self would insist that she would want to be a writer even if it means she has to live on the streets instead of finding a job. While the present 30-year-old me knows better than that and would willingly join a mafia group to not starve and yet still be a writer. 

I’m telling you, I am a writer. Always have been. 

I remember when I was 12 or 13 years old. I would cut out letters from newspapers and old magazines, and then patiently arrange these letters until they turn into sentences. Then the sentence turns into a paragraph. Then paragraphs turn into a page.  Then the page turns into a story. Imagine my joy when I first got a hold of a word processor!

There were days when words wouldn’t come forth. And I hated those days. But I love writing. So I stick around. Whether the well of creativity is full abundance or in drought. 

I am a writer. Always have been.  Always will be.

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