The best part of me is hidden. You cannot see it; I cannot see it. But, I can feel it. When I close my eyes, I am exhaustively overcome by it.
Ever since I can remember I have had an insatiable desire to genuinely capture every moment, every experience, and every sensation. I have always found a way to perceive the most tragic and forgotten moments in the most exquisite ways. This feeling was never forced, nor was it cognitively identifiable. I kept a diary from the moment I began kindergarten. Yet, the only days I seemed to extensively write about were the ones I felt disheartened or enraged. These were the moments that I felt were indispensable to my life; these were the moments I wanted to commit to memory. Pouring my heart out onto paper allowed me to analyze the situations and alter my responses to them. It was then that I realized that writing makes you decide who you are. Writing teaches you how to live and how to be vulnerable. It teaches you how to take conventional experiences and turn them into works of art.
As a child, I would hear a single word or phrase and it would replay in my mind tirelessly like a song. I would dwell on words or sentences I found stimulating or radiant and attempt to insert them into my daily vocabulary. I found the assembling of words to be fascinating; therefore, reading came almost as a reflex to me at a young age. One of my lasting memories involves me reading stories to my kindergarten class. In elementary school, excitement would overcome me when we would learn our vocabulary lists for the week. To my astonishment, everyone else moaned and groaned at the thought of memorizing these words, so I tried to keep my enthusiasm discreet. I would pick out my favorite word from the class list and ask my friends which one was their favorite. I quickly discovered that the other kids did not usually choose a favorite unless I forced it out of them. As the years passed and I frequently changed my ideal profession from a dancer, to a marine biologist, to a psychologist, somehow I always integrated that I aspired to write a novel. As the career path I envisioned incessantly changed, that remained constant.
Fast forward to present day. As I sit on campus between classes I observe those around me. I study their habits, their words, and their nonverbal communication as they abruptly pass by. I wish to capture every detail in my mind so I can record it on paper. Just as I did when I was in kindergarten, I keep a journal that travels with me at all times, for unexpected ideas or experiences that I must embrace.
It has been a stimulating journey to reach this peak of realization. I have changed my mind innumerable times over my future career choice. I began college as a psychology major, switched to business communication with a focus in marketing, then to journalism, followed by advertising. Throughout the metamorphosis I had failed to acknowledge what I am sincerely passionate about. What I have discovered on this journey is that your passion, your essence, it will find you. You cannot lie to yourself. Once you uncover it, it demands to be let forth.
Writing is my passion, my craft. Though I am not its finest craftsman, I feel an overwhelming acceptance from the universe when I admit this to myself. I find words mesmerizing and I want to arrange them in eloquent segments and share the products with everyone. Exposing this hidden passion can be a grueling adventure, but the extraordinary feeling returned is an escape to paradise.
The best part of me is hidden and when I close my eyes, I am exhaustively overcome by it.
