As I am reading Trisha V’s blog – one of my favorite blogs in the world – I’ve been told that in order for my readers to understand what I write, what I do and who I am, they have to know where I came from and what lead me to decide to live the life I live now.
I cannot say that I’m living the life yet, but still, here I am at two o’clock in the morning, writing probably the most personal post I’ll publish on my blog yet.
So who am I? Who is Amielle De Torres, outside and before this blog?
Here goes nothing.
I’m lost; but I am one crazy-ass girl who’s heart is all about traveling and has a big passion for writing.
I guess my love for writing started way back fifth grade when I had Journalism lessons from my adviser (and one of the best English teachers I had up to date). She was a tall, beautiful woman, who really gives her all when teaching. She was strict and I remember being so scared of her and thoroughly pushing my limits only to impress her and see a smile from her face knowing that I’ve reached her expectations. She was the one who ignited my heart for writing.
Anyway, me along with my classmates were coached by her for two years: all throughout fifth and sixth grade. We competed from school to school, district to district, and I was actually assigned on News Writing. I think I’ve been coached so hard I think I still remember how to write news. Haha. (Keep in mind to put the 4Ws&H – What, Why, How, Where, When – on the first paragraph, detail everything first to cross out things that aren’t important and the rest will follow.) But aside from News, I also tried writing Feature or Literary – which in any case is what I loved better.
I graduated, which means saying goodbye to journalism lessons, but it didn’t stop me from writing my heart out. I have a fire in my heart that’s still burning. I was on my sophomore year in High School – year 2009 – when I started my Tumblr blog, however, I didn’t write formally. I just blogged about my daily life, ranted about school and drama, talked about boys, and mainly reblog some stuff I like.
It went on for years. I’ve met online friends, and happily, they still are at this point. (One even made it to the bff list. Short girl from San Pedro, Laguna.) But like most of the people I met there, I have outgrown Tumblr. Even if I made number of with-sense-posts, I stopped.
I stopped because I was too sad and I didn’t like what I was writing. My blog was slowly being filled with anger and pain; that even though people would say how they totally relate with me and how words came out easily and were perfectly just flowing while I’m writing, I stopped.
Because that wasn’t me. It wasn’t who I wanted to be. I didn’t want my future self (aka the me now) to read how miserable I am, crying for a love which I thought would last forever. Yes, it practiced my writing skill but I didn’t want to practice that way.
I opened that blog again December last year (after months of trying because I don’t even remember the email I used way back 2009! It’s been 7 years, hello?) and as I’m backreading through the years, I saw how my writing skill progressed. Some posts were exceedingly immature – there’s a post where I’ve been ranting how I hated school and why do I have to go to school again? – but that’s me. That was me. I may have been immature and someone who’s writing freakishly goes out of control – switching from one topic to another in a snap – but would I have thought that ranting back then is a practice of what I will be doing now?
Actually, as I am composing this, the thought where I saw my diary I had (11 years ago) the other night came into my mind. I was going through my stuff when I saw the box where I keep all the important memorabilia I’ve been keeping ever since I can remember. I’m a memory hoarder and if you remember giving me a letter way back third grade, ask me about it and I still may have it.
Reading the diary was hilarious. I was 9 yet I talk about love like I knew what it is. Like I experienced all the love in this world and I decided to write about it. My mom also gave me this slambook which I had when I was younger and you can read how cute and innocent I was.
But see, my point is, I’ve been telling stories ever since I was this little girl who thought she knew everything about life and love. Which means the fire I thought was ignited two years before elementary graduation turned out to be a fire already burning. It turned out that my favorite English teacher didn’t just ignited it. She added fuel to the fire that’s already burning.
But I said I was lost. How could I be lost?
I already had my first legit job months before graduating college. Not to mention I quit seven months after. But that’s a different story. Anyhow, a few days before quitting, I had my usual casual talk with the boss of all boss AKA the owner of the company itself – I worked under the Executive Admin Department – and it was one of the talks I won’t ever forget in my entire life.
He’s a wise man. An American citizen, so normally, it irks him when someone calls him Sir or Boss. He grew up independently from a different country; give him a country you want to visit and he’s probably been there. He likes to have casual talks with his employees when he’s not doing any work so when I went to his office one afternoon, I wasn’t surprised when he wanted to talk about me.
He asked me why I’m quitting. And then stories after, he asked me what I really wanted to be. What I really want in life.
And that’s where the answer to why I’m lost comes in.
I don’t know.
It’s one of the questions I usually don’t like to answer unless I’m on the mood. Why? Because I have a lot of answer to what I really want that it ends up to I don’t know which one of those I truly want. But that afternoon, I even warned him that he might not be ready for that talk. “Tell me,” he said.
And so I told him how I’ve always wanted to be an author. A writer. I told him I’ve always wanted to start a travel blog and how I’ve been stuck between choosing Multimedia Arts or Mass Communication because I love creating videos and taking photos of everything; and how I’ve always wished to be a radio DJ.
But I didn’t tell him how I wanted to be a pilot, or a flight attendant, or a bad-ass programmer, or how bad I wanted to take Astronomy four years back. I told him some things but I am telling you all these
Because I wanted you to see how confused and lost I am as a person. How I get so jealous of people who knows what they want to do or where they want to go, while I am here.. Having all these dreams, all these goals, yet I don’t know which I truly want to achieve (or achieve first). I get pressured when my friends talk about their future – how they have a goal to be a registered engineer or an RPh on this certain year – and there I am, a Business & Computer Management graduate, a blank canvass among wonderful paintings.
As the optimistic girl everyone knows, this is the part where I should tell you, “But hey, a blank canvass could get so many possibilities.” But no, this is the part where I tell you that I am one lost individual and I don’t know where I’m going but I know I’m on my way. Chos! Corny.
Seriously.. As what my former boss told me, I am one effed up individual and I will stay this way if I didn’t figure out what I want. I almost cried not because it hurt; but it was true. And I’ve realized it myself even before that talk, I just didn’t want to admit it to myself, until one person told me his opinion of me.
His words shocked me back then but right now, at this very second, I remember him telling me to find that one thing that
(Oh my god, you don’t know how much I’m freaking out right now. Realizing all these!) And what makes my heart burn with passion?
T H I S.
Wow. Three hours of writing this post (time check: 0448 AM), all just for the sake of me sharing a part of myself to you, and it ended up with this realization. Oh my freaking god.
I am doing what I love and I am following what my heart wants. This is who I am, this is what I want to be, and this is what I want to do. I want to keep sharing stories with you until I ran out of words to say. I want to continue disclosing myself to you until we both build our own connection. I want to carry on with writing as long as I am inspired to do so because this is what makes me happy; what makes my heart happy. This is what causes my heart burn with passion.
And my only prayer right now before heading to bed is that if you are – like me – a lost individual in this world full of people who knew where they’re heading, I hope it won’t take you this long to realize what you want. I hope that you aren’t stuck with a toxic environment which hinders you from growing and accomplishing your dreams. I hope that whatever you do, you do what makes you happy as long as you’re not hurting anyone.
Because I repeat, a blank canvass – as blank and as white as it can be – could get so many possibilities.