I never viewed myself as a writer. In fact, I remember I was quite opposed to the idea growing up. At the age of 6, I gave myself a headstart by struggling to read. In elementary school, the pattern continued as English was consistently my worst subject. Grammar and spelling never quite clicked in my brain—the latter of the two still has not improved with time (thank god for spell check). Thus, in middle school, I finally waved the white flag. I remember thinking to myself, “I’m good at many things, and I acknowledge that writing will never be on that list.” I never once thought I was good at writing, or had any interest in writing for myself.
I believe part of this misconception about writing came with its elusive nature. Growing up, it frustrated me that there was never a formula to follow. Unlike the math problems I could easily solve, writing left me uneasy on how to approach it, and even worse, how do you know when a piece is done? How do you know if it's good?
I didn’t like these aspects of writing for a long time. The only writing I did throughout my life was in a journal. I’m not sure what drew me to it, but initially I journaled to process things around me and to remember my life. Either way, I’ve been doing it consistently for the past seven years.
When I got to Princeton, my conception of writing didn’t change immediately. I took the infamous freshman writing seminar and felt further convinced that writing was not for me—academic writing at least. Slowly though, my journal evolved. Here and there I would write an entry that sounded pretty enough to share out loud with my sister. Looking back, I think my journaling slowly morphed into a sort of expressive art form. I was journaling to process my emotions, but also to portray my life in a poetic way.
Even as I grew to love journaling, I did not formalize my love for writing until I found myself here, blogging for Princeton’s Admission Office. This job has helped me formalize my journal-like rants into completed pieces that I can share. And through these blogs, I realized a new inkling for that elusive yet expressive process we call creative writing.
All of this is to say that being fluent in an art form doesn’t come naturally for everyone. For me, I believe years of journaling evolved a weakness of mine into a strength. It has been an unexpected turn of events to say the least. I don’t know if I’ve earned myself the title of a writer, but I can admit that I now view myself as one.