I lied and I am not a writer.
I had always called myself a writer. It is a passion I had since childhood. I remember writing short stories and dialogues on those red and blue lined papers. I remember writing in blue ink. I still have the papers somewhere, stored in a pink High School Musical envelope.
The stories were simple, definitely something a child would write. There was one, though, that was unique in the fact that it was written in English and that it was in a tone unfit for a kid. Eight year old me wrote, “The last poem is when I die.” How depressing. But how utterly, incredibly honest. To this day, I do not know how I came up with it or what was going on through my brain when I scribbled the words. I guess mortality was something I wanted to confront, or something I vividly want to understand.
Since then, I was writing, writing, writing. In sixth grade, I was writing essays on an old computer, saving them for who knows what. In high school I was writing for the school publication. I was blogging my thoughts-- a more intimate look to who I was a writer. It was public, but it had a sense of privacy which I craved.