How’d I End Up Here?

I’ve always loved stories. My mother said I’d mouth letters on street signs and jeepneys. We’d have sets of encyclopedia  and story books at home. When I met lifelong friends in grade school, I borrowed their books (because what are friends for, right?) and had the time of my life. And the library! Oh, what bookworm wouldn’t love the library?

Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys. Stephen King. Mitch Albom. Harry Potter. Mates, Dates. It was an amazing world of books and stories.

Remember that part in the movie Matilda, when our protagonist found that she could be happy in the company of books because they tell you that:

You are not alone.

Of course, I didn’t think I’d actually be a fiction author. I liked animals, so I thought maybe I should be a vet (still have that wish). Or something exciting like an archaeologist. Until of course I realized how dangerous and hard it could be. But all the stories, myths, and adventure in far-off places? So what did I do? I decided to be a high school English teacher because, duh, stories.

Turns out it’s more than that – and yes, my admiration for amazing teachers just grew. Because it’s friggin’ hard especially when it’s not what you want to do for the rest of your life. I went into that job, with my heart already filled with love for writing fiction stories. That was the kind of life I wanted to live. And it’s infinitely difficult to be a whole-heartedly dedicated teacher while being a full-time writer.

I didn’t know anything about earning a living online when I resigned, though, so I practically threw myself to the wolves. But I’d already brainwashed myself with the idea of dedicating myself to writing stories, to helping people around the world, etc. I researched about traditional and independent publishing, their pros and cons, what it means to be an actual writer, what is passion, blah blah. All the good and the bad, I weighed.

And I still want to be a writer because, duh, stories.

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