the writergirl

…the softness returns.

I am different now, different from the woman who first started this blog so many months ago. ‘Of course,’ you say, ‘of course you are different’ — we change every day, little by little, adjustments and compromises so small but in hindsight are so very important. Every day some part of us shifts and stretches, testing the confines of our experiences and environment, trying to see how far we can go to become who we always were.

I cannot say for certain whether the person I am now is the person I’ve always meant to become, but I’d like to believe that in this moment this is who I need to be. Some days I’m still afraid that it may not be enough, but I’ve learned over the past few months that I have to suck it up and try to at least believe that it is.

As I grow closer to 26 and begin leaving 25 behind, I hold steadfast to my inner child, my younger self. I loathe to leave her. I want to face problems with maturity and trust, but I also want to find wonder and joy in every small thing. I never want to lose that sense of wonder a child has when it looks at the world and sees all the possibilities. I’ve come to realise how jaded and disillusioned most people my age are and it terrifies me to think of ever becoming like that or sinking too deep into cynical nihilism that I forget the reasons why I want to keep waking up in the morning.

I don’t have everything figured out. No one does, and no one ever will, and that’s cool. That’s fine with me. I want the reminder that we’re all bumbling along, trying our best in life, no matter how some people might spin it into something less messy and more “perfect”. I don’t understand the human obsession with perfection — it’s unnecessary and frankly exhausting, but there are times when I write and there’s a cruel need for my words to be perfect. I suppose it’s in our human nature to want something we so very much care about to be the best it can be, whether that’s in our relationships, careers, or goals in life. But that’s not very fair, isn’t it? Not to the people around us, not to our loved ones, and especially not to ourselves.

But I digress. The title says “the softness returns” for a reason, and that is… exactly that. Softness and stillness. I’ve been lost for a while, swept up in the whirlwind of my career and the notion of adulthood. Somewhere along the way I’d hardened myself to the things I’d once loved, second guessing my purpose and beliefs, thinking that becoming an adult meant shedding every characteristic that society deemed “childish”, but that’s a lie and wholly unfair.

I spent September and October (and perhaps a little bit of August, but I cannot remember now) returning to the stories I once loved. I played video games, rewatched anime, and read beloved books all because I wanted to fall in love with the way they made me feel all over again. And I knew in finding that, I’d find my feet on solid ground and remember what I set out to do once more.

When I was younger I used to say I wanted to write because I wanted to be a voice for those who never had their stories written, and while that still holds true, the bigger part of it is that I want to make people feel the things I feel when experiencing a good story. I want to move them to tears, I want them to love my characters and see themselves in them. I want my story to stay with them forever, shaping the way they see the world and the way they treat themselves and the people in their lives.

And isn’t that a grand legacy? I cannot lie and tell you that the possibility of being lauded as a brilliant writer does not make me hungry, but the legacy I can leave as a writer whose stories stay with readers for generations makes me even more excited.

And despite the flailing around for a few months, dazed and confused and hurting, it is good to return to the heart I carry behind my ribcage, to the stories I have always had. No matter how far I stray, no matter how long I am away, I find myself always returning to my stories and words.

I return to softness, and in it I find what it means to be human. I hope you find your own softness, too.

Take care of yourself.

Love, the writergirl