There’s a quote I learned to love. It goes “Good writing is like holding your breath underwater.” Well, at that point in time, apparently, I didn’t know what good writing was. I also needed a basis of comparison. The next day, I went to the pool and held my breath until my face turned blue. From then on, I never wanted to know what good writing was.
I write. I write journalism and poetry and anything in between. I kept a journal and wrote in it every day for months until my dad found it. I ended that as fast as it began. Luckily, I made a personal blog the year before, not telling anyone about it. I posted everything on it. A year later, I posted the link to my blog only to my closest friends. Some claimed it was impressive. Others said things like “Wow! Are you depressed?” or “You have a really good imagination!” I was conflicted; if I told people I wasn’t depressed, they would think I have a good imagination. But if I told them it wasn’t my imagination, they would think I was depressed.