Blog 8

Growing up in a somewhat-traditional sort-of-Indian household, education has always been my priority. When I was first introduced to writing, it seemed like it was just another subject to excel at. It was like math, but with letters instead of numbers. But, it was basic - too simple to be interesting. However, I continued to follow my teachers’ lessons on writing and grammar, but didn’t care about the content of the writing. At the same time, I didn’t speak. I hated to talk in groups or even one-on-one to a stranger. I’d talk normally to my close friends and direct family, but mumbled when asked a question in my classes. So, when I was given my first creative writing assignment, it was astonishing how much I had to say. At first, writing was the voice I lacked, all the words I wasn’t able to say aloud was conveyed so fluently on a piece of paper. As my academic career progressed, writing became more definitive to me. Originally, it served as a source of communication, but as time went on, it turned into a form of expression.

I was incredibly shy as a kid. I’d hide behind my mom or dad when being introduced to someone, or whisper in my mom’s ear to have her say the words I didn’t have the confidence to say myself. I was considered the “mute” in my family and my class. The game ‘telephone’ always comes to my mind when I had to communicate to someone outside my circle of friends. I’d say something to someone to tell to someone else, which, in turn, told the message to the destined recipient. Of course, if you’ve played this game, the original message always was misinterpreted, so my form of communication was limited. I chose not to speak and I wasn’t too fond of writing. Eventually, something had to give.

My fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Gilbert, asked our class to write a short story on, of what I recall, a rock. I thought it was incredibly dumb at first. Who can come up with an amazing story about a rock? Well, turns out, I could. When my idea hit me, I wrote and filled up not a page, not even two or three pages, but seven full pages about a schoolgirl who discovers a magical rock that grants her three wishes her heart desires. Probably due to my obsession with Disney movies as a child, the story was similar to the plot from Aladdin. Regardless, I was exceptionally proud of myself and amazed at what I was able to do with only a few pieces of paper, a pen, and my thoughts. Mrs. Gilbert continued to give us creative writing assignments and I continued to write my stories. The more I wrote, the more I “spoke.” I found a comfort in writing, a confidence that speech was never able to provide.

Writing helped me transition speech into my main form of communication within the next couple of years. It doesn’t count for much, but being unable to talk to my best friend during class, we wrote ridiculously long notes to one another. And since I wasn’t able to convey my personality through speech, it had to shine through my writing. In these notes, my sense of humor appeared quirkier and all my stories seemed more dramatic than they originally were (which explains why I’m such a drama queen today). I was no longer the shy, quiet girl in my writing, but rather an obnoxious, quite humorous teenager (or preteen at that time). Oddly enough, the personality in my writing was carried into reality. Writing helped me bring out the other side of my personality and in essence, induced another source of communication.

At this time, I had the opportunity to see the writer I was, meaning, I had a clearer perception to the person I wanted to be. Being able to distance myself from my writing and see not only the content, but also my style and tone, helped me transition that into my speech. My writing (at that time) had an obvious charisma and charm, which I strangely admired. I wanted to portray my same “self” in my writing to my “self” in reality. Soon enough, life imitated art and I took on the same personality my writing carried. Writing was no longer a source of communication for me, but rather, a form of expression. Eventually, everything flip-flopped and found it’s rightful place: writing was no longer the spokesperson for my personality, but rather a reflection of it.

Others began to notice this change in my character. Over time, people were able to visualize me when reading one of my texts, or even an essay for English class. I’ve heard it on more than a few occasions where peers and teachers would say, “I could definitely see you saying what you wrote.” My transition from verbal communication to oral communication was ultimately successful, in that sense. My personality was able to shine through two mediums, a feat that was nearly impossible for me a few years back.

It wasn’t until my junior year in high school when I realized the type of writer I had the potential to be. I was taught by the most amazing English teacher, who’s every little writing peeve was instilled and engraved in my head and subconscious. I was more aware of what I wanted to say and took my time to write it. I clarified all my thoughts before I even picked up a pen. I made sure to be as simple and precise as possibly, without being redundant and babbly. It shaped me to be a better writer in more than one aspect. My writing became clearer and less wordy, while still maintaining its “voice” and it helped develop my on-growing love for editing.

However, due to my English teacher, another aspect of writing was manifested within me. Now able to see the simplicity and clarity in writing, it helped me become an avid reviser. Being such a critical person, it was an easy way of taking a negative aspect of my personality and bringing it to a positive light. Instead of hurting people by telling them their obvious flaws, I offended them in a less apparent and more effective way. It was my way of taking control of a situation. In a sense, editing was my form of rehearsing. I didn’t get to edit what comes out of my mouth (which has always been a problem for me), but I did get to decide what goes on a piece of paper. I had the ability to do it over and over again repeatedly until it’s right - until it’s finally perfect. The control in editing was more appealing than the editing itself. I was able to fix everything with a cross out and replace it with words a bit more powerful.

It was only a few days ago when I edited my last paper. I was actually having a pretty terrible day and being able to make right of all these wrongs on a piece of paper made me overwhelmingly happy. The paper was appalling when I first read it. It had no focus, an extreme lack of organization, and it was filled with irrelevant evidence. After spending a good amount of hours fixing it up, I managed to get my friend an A-. He wasn’t entirely happy when she aw the amount of scratch-marks and writing all over the page, but when he got his grade back, he was more than pleased. Editing allowed me to take my negative energy and turn it into one that’s beneficial, for the writer and myself.

Seemingly, writing actually molded my personality. After being able to define the person I wanted to be, I was able to achieve it. Over the years, writing helped me develop as a person. When I was shy, writing brought out my inner confidence and when I felt too arrogant, writing helped me tone my personality down. Because of writing, I am a clearer, thoughtful speaker (and person). My relationship with writing has taken a few hits and blows, but it has never failed me. Whether I use it as a form of communication or as a form of expression, writing is there. It’s my words, my voice, and my personality. Writing, essentially, is part of who I am and who I aspire to be.