Today was the day of my graduation ceremony. I missed it. One hazard of going to university in another country.
My computer is getting slower by the day and it is driving my crazy. Also driving me crazy? My room. I don’t have a chair for my desk so I have to bend over to use my laptop which is uncomfortable and probably bad for me. I have stuff all over the floor in an attempt to organise. My closet is still waiting for some coverage. My wall is still blank. It is not the inspiring space I wanted to spend my summer writing in. It is not a retreat in any way except that it has a door which separates me from the less-than stellar living conditions outside of it…
I arrived in Manchester today.
Started from the bottom (of England) now we here.
What an incredible day.
So today I had my second-last class. It was a celebration with food and stuff and people would go up and read poems or bits of their stories or sing songs they wrote, and we all talked and said goodbye and everything. It was great.
It’s awkward posting again after a post like that, but I’m glad you all liked it so much. It’s now my most liked post of all time, so thank you.
Why do I write?
It’s bizarre to think back to fourteen-year-old me sitting at my desk one November afternoon and picking up a pen with one thought: The world needs more books. Back then I had absolutely zero intentions of becoming a writer. I was bored and I wanted to read, but I had run out of books so I did the next best thing and wrote. My plan was to write five or so chapters just to get the writing bug out, but here I am over six years later, still writing.
It’s easier to forget that I have another life on the other side of the ocean than to admit I’ve been neglecting that life. I’ve spoken more french over the last year than I have spoken to my mom at all. It’s only now, with a week of classes left to my entire university experience that I’m being forced to see how much damage I’ve done to my home life.
In class this week we were thinking about what makes us the kind of writers we are. This was good timing because I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the writer I am, the writer I want to be, and the writer I will most likely end up being. All three are fairly different from each other, considering they’re all me, but I guess it’s hard to imagine the future. It’s easier to look back at what got me here.