I never enjoyed school, I never failed either. I did good enough to pass and graduate from high school. It wasn’t all bad though, there were a few times when I felt good about learning something. Reading Gabriel García Marquez, understanding the predictability in physics and specific formulas, the logic behind conjugating English verbs, and some biology lessons. But when I compare my elementary school years to the way I teach my third graders, I always get a feeling of emptiness and regret.
I was never a writer or reader. Writing for me was gathering information from books, spelling words correctly, and having proper handwriting. It was never about stories, expression, feelings, ideas, creation, connection, or transformation. It wasn’t until 2005, when I discovered Blogger, that I realized how it was easier for me to express certain things through written words. Back then, it was easy to experiment with a blog format because I wasn’t fully aware of the “online factor.” Words started flowing, and for the first time, I began to think critically about the way I wrote.
Through the years, and as I’ve learned about the audience factor, my voice has gotten quieter. One reason is that I overthink everything I write, mostly because I write in English, a language I will never feel 100% fluent in. My insecurity also feeds off the lack of purpose, because I often wonder why I’m writing about certain things. I know they matter to me, but do they matter to others? Should I just keep a personal notebook and do my writing there? Where does the urge to publish come from? Is it because giving back is one of my most important values?
I’m not sure, I do know a few things that keep me in this confusing yet intriguing dilemma. I need to write just as much as I need to see friends, go shopping, have wine, listen to music in the morning, and wear earrings at all times. Writing isn’t something I can stay away from, even when it often causes me anguish to compose a draft. Writers I look up to speak about this and are open about the draining experiences of rambling with ideas and words. So for me, as I begin to consider myself a writer, I acknowledge the need for randomness and vulnerability. The need to write more stories and truly open up.
As a third grade teacher, I don’t really have a choice. I am in the swimming pool with them, and we’re learning all these writing moves together. So from now on, I’ll be writing in a way I was never taught, or I ever considered even after starting my first blog. I will drop the need for sense-making for a while, and instead, just choose random people to tell stories to. We’ll see how it goes.
Start with a Story 