Will write for food

Kidding aside, the following 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.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s