I've never seen myself as a good writer, or even a writer. I was never particularly good at English compositions or GP essays. The first time that I found out I was mildly interested in writing was when I won the writing competition as a Recruit in my BMTC cohort. Basic Military Training was coming to an end and we were asked to write about our most memorable moment. I wrote about the night in my shell scrape during our one-week field camp. I had just received my A level results, and did not meet the academic conditions of the scholarship that was offered to me; but I decided to continue serving the Army anyway. I remember tearing up in my shell scrape, trying to stifle a sob in that pin-drop silence, as the moon shone down on our weary faces, feeling like an utter disappointment and unsure if I had made the right decision. But I also remember turning to my left and right, seeing my buddies around me, and thinking that this was so-damn-worth-it. Somehow, my story moved Commander BMTC, and I ended up reading it on the podium in front of three schools of Recruits. So yes, I've known writing about as long as I've known how to be a soldier.
I wrote my first blog post on 4 April 2014. I didn't really know what I was doing then, or what the blog would eventually look like. I wasn't even sure if anyone was going to read it. On hindsight, it was really quite a trashy post; but I liked it. 314 people read it - enough for me to continue writing the next one.
And then, over the next six years, I wrote about all sorts of things. I wrote about my travels; about my university experience, and about the people that I loved. For a brief period, I wrote advertorials, which I later realised I didn't quite enjoy. I also wrote about politics, about religion and my experiences in the military. And I wrote fiction, to hide the real pain I felt inside. But what I wrote most about was my seven-year relationship, which I was so proud of. About how we grew as a couple, our anniversaries, our engagement, and eventually, our break up. And I wrote about my struggle with mental health.
After my break up, I considered deleting some of my old posts but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. My blog, my writing, has seen me through my growing-up years. My coming of age. When there's a reason to celebrate, I write. When I feel an overwhelming sense of despair, I write. When I contemplate about life, I write. When I have nowhere to air my grievances about the injustice in this world, I write. Each post carries a piece of me; and when you stitch them together, this blog tells my life story.
I want to keep writing till the day I die. To write of the mistakes that I will continue to make. The things that convict me and make me who I am. The person that I will fall in love with. The countries that I will travel to once this pandemic dies down.
Today, I celebrate six years of writing this blog. To all of you who are reading it, thank you for walking this journey with me. I'm not the type of person to share my dark thoughts and struggles with my family or friends; so, by spending time exploring this intimate space of mine, you've become a dear friend that I sincerely appreciate. ♡
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