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.
I’m starting a new thing called Blasts (past+blogs=blasts It was either that or “pogs”). I’ll find something I wrote before this blog existed and post it here. Just thinking about it, I think a lot of these will pass as blog posts, just older.
It’s possible I have over-extended myself. Between my job, running Writers’ Society, working as a student representative, seeing friends, and running this blog, my university assignments have been falling through the cracks a bit. Why can’t the days be longer? I don’t have enough time for everything I want to do and unfortunately this means I’ll have to start saying no to things. No, I can’t take an extra shift at work, no I can’t hang out tomorrow, no I can’t do a trip to London next week.
I got some new books recently. I always try not to buy books because at the end of the semester my luggage is always crazy heavy, but it’s counter-intuitive for a writer. Books are a necessity and there’s just something about owning one and not just having a library copy that makes things better.