Where to begin...

I've always wanted to be a writer but it was just recently that I considered myself as one.

How does one become a writer? How does one begin? And does it matter if nobody reads what one writes? Technically, somebody always does read what one writes. The writer herself can always read her work. After all, it is writing that is prerequisite to reading and not the other way around. (I read that in one of my books while researching for cognitive psychology). In my opinion, a writer is a writer when he or she writes and enjoys it.

Ever since I was a kid, I used to write fantasy-filled short stories and unfinished childish novels. My two younger sisters used to read them. Nikki, the one after me, even made a book report about one of my stories back in gradeschool. (Whee, I had one of my works undergo an "academic review" at such a young age!) But I never really considered myself a writer, a really real (memories of my Philo class under William Panlilio rush in) writer... not until recently.

I started with my MA classes in U.P. last June 2005. And upon entering a prerequisite class for Psychology, my professor asked us to write a self-introductory essay (of course it was about ourselves). It was the assignment that led me into my realizations of how much I love to write -- making a short storyline that revolves around my name and its evolution though the years, editing this and that, and just enjoying the entire process.

To cut it all short, I made a two and a half page (yellow pad paper) essay about myself. I wasn't really being too self-absorbed or anything (haha, defensive!). But I just found it therapeutic (hence the length) to attempt writing about myself. The more I wrote, the more I discovered things that I never really gave attention to before.

And in answering the question that we've always asked ourselves... who am I? I found myself still elusive from all the words that I could muster in my head. But then again, as persons, we are always beyond the labels and descriptions that we use.

I knew my professor actually read the whole essay (even if it was longer than usual) because in class he sometimes referred to my being a former kindergarten teacher, one of the personal information I wrote. And also because of another thing...

By the end of the semester, I did get a good grade from his class but I'm pretty sure it wasn't because of my writing. (It was a class in Statistics.)

I knew he read everything because he wrote something on my class card (Miss Cristy, our nice personnel in the Dept, who was surprised when she handed me my class card said that he rarely writes remarks). There he scribbled something that lit my face up. The first line he wrote signified that he understood one of my essay's major points. Yet, it was the second line that I would never forget. It was short and simple. "Well done".

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I will post my self introductory essay one of these days.
It's entitled Meet Lala Jara, inspired by my all-time favorite movie, Meet Joe Black.

Now, I want to keep on writing... but more about other places, persons, and events.
I know that I'll be viewing these things from my own lenses and basing them on my own experiences, definitely not free from any biases. I am embracing my subjectivity.

This is where I begin.