August 26, 2012
"What do you want to be when you grow up?"
How does such a question, so innocent and thoughtful, constantly put my teeth at edge? I always force myself to smile, to respond with "A writer" before I go mad. Because I don't want to be a writer when I 'grow up'- nor will I be. A person, when reaching such an age, or obtaining a certain degree, does not suddenly be knighted as a writer. I was a writer with the first shallow breathe that crossed my lips. When my parents divorced, I was a writer. When I laugh or cry, I am a writer, and when I don't write for long periods of time, I am a writer. On my eight seventh birthday, I'll be a writer, and the day I'm married, I will be also. When I sit on my deathbed, burdened with age and obligations, a writer I will be. It isn't a status gained, or even one lost; no matter how many books I neglect to write, or the amount of poems that are left unsaid at the back of my mind, I will still be a writer. Its something I was born into; it was something I was born being. Not a day will go by when I am not a writer. In fact, even in death, with my spirit gone and my body bare, a writer I will remain. It is something I am, a part of my very being- and yet, less obvious and somehow more crucial than a vital organ. It cannot be thrust or cut out of me, it cannot get lost in the chaos of life. Instead, it will remain, holding me in place, keeping me who I am. So no, I will not be a writer when I grow up, but I will be with every action, emotion, flaw and burden that I attend to.

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