I fell in love with words the moment I first got hold of a newspaper, fresh from the press, my nose loving every scent of its smell. I was about four or five then. Two years later, I fell in love with writing the moment I learned to construct sentences on my second grade. I loved writing my thoughts. So, I made my first fairy tale about a child named Rosa who had a beautiful magic rose.

And, from then on, I dreamt of having the power to make people scream, laugh, cry, or be scared with the words I have written.

So you see, writing is the earliest tangible form of love I have ever known. It was there long before I learned what love is. It’s embedded in my life, in my mind, in my heart, in my soul. As a friend wrote, it started as a hobby. Then, it became a passion. Later, it became a lifestyle. And it has since then become my life.

I just find it ironic that on days that I am extremely bored and I have nothing to do, I could not write even a single sentence.

And now that I have things to prioritize, there is this sad longing to fire on my keyboard and fill the blank screen with words–words straight from the heart, words long left unsaid, words that were nowhere to be found during those free times that I got.

It’s  an uncontrollable urge to write that makes me restless and slow in studying for the final exams. It is an addiction I cannot get rid of.

It’s my inner soul that yearns to be out, my other life that has been long tamed since I started law school.

To some, it may be a curse. But I chose to use it as a blessing.

So, I write.