I grew up watching my grandfather sit in front of his portable table and write his books every day all day. He would read to me the things he wrote about culture, about politics, about life… I was a bit too young to understand anything but I suppose I enjoyed it, why would I sit with him everyday and listen to him otherwise.
Both my parents used to write poems as a hobby during my growing up years. I followed suit but could never be as good as either one of them. Life happened and I forgot all about it.
When I started working in a corporate, perfectly written emails became a necessity for me, each time better than the last. I started writing, for myself, things that I felt, things that I liked and things that I didn’t. Writing became my personal space, not a diary but snippets of simple things I felt.
Some words have so much meaning in itself that a single word is enough to express a thousand feelings.
In the last few years I’ve started using a little bit of social media mediums to share some of my thoughts. However, the notes section of my phone has remained my best friend for a very long time, absorbing every single random thought that came out of me, keeping it safely hidden from the world.
I’m not a writer, my writing is a mere consequence of my thinking.