Gaining & Giving Courage
I’d like to think that every writer starts out their writing journey discreetly. My own writing habits were secret for a long time. It was a comforting thought I had back then, an assumption I clung onto and consciously chose not to disprove. I was too shy to ask anyone otherwise. I didn’t want to ask, reluctant to face down my feelings of inadequacy.
In hindsight, I realised I was my own worst critic.
The environment I was in was not receptive to my interests. People weren’t exactly shy in expressing disapproval of it either. I was reprimanded, told my talents were mere frivolous hobbies and to focus on studying real, important things. Get a respectable and good-paying job.
The world felt like it had nothing to offer someone the likes of me.
These words hung over me constantly, like rain clouds and there I was—caught without an umbrella. My confidence, stripped away by the regime of a school that was boring at best and at worst, lonely. I shouted into a void that only ever echoed back emptily.
Yet, the passion I had for what I loved was not willed away. I did not cave, not entirely, not in the way they wanted, completely subservient to their expectations. I had a penchant for spite, doodling on textbooks, homework, and test papers, writing countless scenes between characters that would never happen in the actual shows. Grinning in the empty hallway when I was caught and told to stand outside 一 the wind blew cooler out there anyway. The classroom was stuffy and always smelt of marker ink. I was grateful that my stubbornness pulled me through.
Just like that, I graduated from high school.
I enrolled in university, signed up for the courses I actually wanted to study. The world turned upside down and I felt tipsy … I felt free. It was this bubbly sensation, giddiness spreading all over — like a plane defying gravity and lifting into the air with one great thrust. I felt like a fish out of water, but I was a very happy fish.
It was then that I also met people who shared the same interests and passions, though they were much more open about sharing their work. Yet, I was still nervous, constantly reminded of the backlash I received so often. Even in the present, I was held back by the past.
Thus, my friends’ unwavering support was surprising, and if I were to be honest, puzzling. I doubted the truthfulness of their praise, but it was selfish to let my insecurities invalidate their genuine intentions. I was growing tired of being reserved, of feeling ashamed for liking what I liked, of needing to put myself down because it wasn’t the ‘right’ thing.
To hell with it all! I was going to do what I liked and excel at it.
I took a blind leap of faith and threw my hat into the ring, joined everything and anything, all the competitions and workshops and clubs. Sometimes they didn’t pan out; sometimes, they did. With every little achievement I found a piece of my confidence, those crumbs scattered across my old school grounds — in musty classrooms, ill-equipped labs, and the windy hallway where I was punished for standing, grinning up at the clouds as if in some secret cahoots with the sky.
I’m still picking up those crumbs. Sometimes, I hit snags and need a breather, some time to think about how far I’ve come from the girl who wanted to remain unnoticed in the corner of the room, who secretly yearned to soar. Only recently, I gained the courage to untangle this internal tug of war, to tell myself it was alright to want to thrive and spread my wings. And every once in a while, when I find a straggler trudging the same path, I can give them some of that courage too.
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