Before I was anything, I was a writer. Before I had any interest, any passions, any dreams, I wrote. Well, actually my first words started out as little scribbles, but I knew what I was saying. My first journal was silver and sparkly with a lock and key. My mom bought it for me and I loved it so much. I remember the moment vividly when she gave it to me. I never knew how special I’d hold that moment in my mind. 
The reason I write this is because sometimes I forget parts of myself. I throw bits and pieces of myself away, thinking that they don’t apply to me anymore. That I’ve grown out of them. For while I threw the writer side of myself away. Thinking it wasn’t fit for me anymore. I wasn’t qualified enough to do it. Instead I poured myself into all these other artistic platforms, such as photography, painting, and music. I kind of lost my fire and passion for writing. 
I’ve realized that this was the wrong thing for me to do. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love all these other artistic outlets. I still dream of being a destination photographer someday and I believe that I’ll always be pouring myself out into different outlets, but I need to go back to my roots for a little while. I need to go back where I originally started. Being a writer. 

I honestly don’t know where my future is going to take me. I’m a college student who is young and has no idea what she’s doing in the world. All I know is that my first passion was writing and deep down, I’ll always be a writer. Even though for awhile I threw that part of myself away, I’m going pick up the broken pieces and, slowly but surly, put them back together. I want to become a writer again. 

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