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The Writer

“You can write,” he said, “because you are honest.”

I doubted myself. Me? Honest? And to write? Can I really?

Yes, I know I enjoy writing and I somehow seem to be able to express myself better and clearer through writing than speaking. It’s like, the words spin too fast in my head which leads to the words coming out too fast from my mouth when I speak; but when I write, I am given time. Given time to type firstly without interruptions, with the opportunity to pause, the chance to reread what I had typed, reflect and then decide consciously if that was what I really meant.

But all I wanted to, or had ever wanted to do was just to express my thoughts, my feelings. And since I blogged, it was amazing to receive comments outright on my face, “Gerry, you write so well!” especially so from loving teachers and supportive friends. No one of my closest friends, or even my family had ever acknowledged that. I remember when I was 14, or probably 16; I’d write stories and show them to my English teacher. He’d correct my grammar, and the certain ‘slangs’ I used and explained to me the implications of my construction of sentences meaning to this or that… but that aside…

Can I write? I have friends who had written books waiting to be published. I read plenty of books – self help, religious, romance, child development… and sometimes I wonder, what gave them the courage to write, what inspired them? Well, the logical mind answers, “they have writing skills, they have knowledge, they are experienced from their professions…” But what do I have, but only a heart that yearns to express its feelings, its experiences. Maybe, a heart that yearns to give hope, to inspire, to remind those who crossed paths with it – that all is not lost; there is a purpose; there is always, LOVE.

He said, “Write about your experiences. Write about your story. Write to share and teach others what you have learned.” But are my experiences sufficient to impact? Is my story enough to inspire? Will my sharing really reach out to others out there? Actually, what have I learned? And today I understand, what they could or could not receive from what I share is entirely beyond my control.

I do have a tendency of being long-winded. I know. But I can’t help it. I write with my heart, and the heart is long winded, because it goes around in circles, not knowing where to start; and worrying where it’d end.

Where it’d end. That’s the problem; or rather, my problem. Always worrying where it’d end, how it’d end which inevitably leads me to a no start or beginning at all.

But here I am. Typing away as a start. At least now, I have begun.

But will I end? Let’s read on to see.

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