Who Am I?

So I guess starting such a public forum, displaying such personal thoughts and writing pieces brings up a few questions. It seems a bit selfish to dedicate an entire platform to my own pieces of work. But it is something I have wanted to do for a long time. Throughout my life every time someone asks "what do you want to be when you grow up?" or "what are your plans after school?" I always had a different answer to give. I still don't really know what I am doing with my life, but I am in the process of finding who I am, my voice, and my passion.

All I have ever known is the fact that writing produces a range of feelings. You know in the movies, the girl talks to her best friend about the butterflies she feels over a boy? Well that feeling of butterflies and the excitement of the unknown is how I feel when it comes to writing. Whether it is fiction, journaling, poetry, or articles, I am so in love with who I am on paper.

When I entered college I started as a fashion major, probably my biggest mistake. I knew I wanted to write, I just thought I was going to analyze trends and write about trends that impact the fashion world. But it was superficial and meaningless. I didn't find any satisfaction from the things I was writing.

I had to figure out why I was writing. Around the same time I found myself in a lost, depressed state of being and found that journaling helped me process all the thoughts and emotions I was having. So I began to write for myself. And the passion and joy that normal people feel in life, I had just begun to feel but only in my writing. Writing became a form of prayer to me. Even the things I burned and no one will ever read, they held so much power.

I am not writing of my struggles to gain any praises or start any revolutionary conversation, but I write for myself. I share because all my life I have kept the words I wanted to say aloud to myself. As I grew up, I realized how internalizing all those things I wanted to say was eating away at my soul, at my joy. Those unsaid words were killing me.

I do, I write in hope that someone finds this and feel seen by my stories. But I write for no one else. I write my stories, fictional and everything in between for myself.

I mean, as a rising senior in college it would be nice that this site helps me find direction when it comes to finding a job or internship; but at the end of the day, I am just a girl trying to find her voice.

From a young age I was taught to speak when what I had to say was worthy of saying aloud, when what I had to say was kind and supportive: "if you don't have anything nice to say don't say it at all." I was taught that every word was to have a purpose; I was taught to use my words wisely, that they are a weapon as well as a gift and not everyone deserves to hear them.

So what is all this? This is a gift to the 12 year old girl who wrote letters to Taylor Swift, a 13 year old girl who processed puberty through her diary, the 16 year old girl who wrote endless pages to a boy who never loved her back, to the 20 year old who let people walk all over her because she didn't know how to speak up for herself. This is a response to all my regrets; a response to every time I bit my tongue because I was too scared to open my mouth.