Have you ever thought about what kind of person you defined yourself and you really are? Those sparkling or hidden details are buried inside of a person’s mind, waiting to be arose at one important moment of life. If I stepped back, and thought back the times with a pair of fresh eyes, I would discover something new about myself and my definitions every day.
Life is an endless trudge of defining and redefining who we are, and the reasons that we exist. One second ago you thought you were heading somewhere, but all of a sudden you are at a new place, chasing happiness with a completely new insane meaning.
Realizing a destined passion can take a long time. I remember that when I was seven, my father gave me a notebook from his company and later it became my very first diary. My diaries were filled with scattered Chinese letters and Pinyin, awkwardly written on this plain-looking, company logoed notebook. All I wrote about was simply narrating the places I went, and the things I have done, the people I met, and my feelings for the day. The moments of my excitement, embarrassment, happiness, and anxiety as a seven-year-old were recorded throughout the page. It was a powerful way of recording feelings, which I struggle to put down on paper as I grew up.
A casual gift by my father started my passion of writing about my life. I started collecting journals and wrote throughout my entire childhood and teenage years. On the journal, every day is a unique story, in an ecstasy of delight or a nameless sorrow.
Those unique stories on papers ceased for a while after I came to the U.S. for college. Once I thought that I had so much more important things to accomplish than just writing. When I was stuck in the ever-lasting traffic to work, when I realized I haven’t seen my father for a year, when I squeezed my feet into those grindingly painful high heels, when nobody called my Chinese name anymore, I assumed that I will never be able to lift up a pen and write down my life again.
For several years that I have been in so many places, I found myself hold back the feelings living in the unfamiliar cities abroad. I thought that maybe writing a blog or a book is never an option for me. I thought that I would calmly surrender to my life and to the reality, until I opened my new notebook and drained my emotions on the papers. At particular moments of my uncontrolled emotions, I found that writing may be my only shelter. When I stepped back and looked at myself, I discovered the desire of putting down my feelings on paper are indispensable in my life.
I am in a destined rush. Sometimes an everlasting passion is disguised as a three-minute rush, and it may take a lifetime to be discovered.