An ode to writing

When my parents first got divorced and I was living with my mom and sister at our great grandmother’s house, we started binge watching a new show. The show was about Rory, a young student aspiring to be a Harvard journalist, and her mother Lorelai, a manager of an inn she hoped to own one day. From the beginning, I felt that the relationship between Lorelai and Rory was paralleled to my relationship with my mother.

Throughout the show, Rory remains motivated to become a journalist, no matter what. She doesn’t let anything stop her from doing the best she can to reach her goal. When I was younger, I compared myself to Rory a lot.

My obsession with the show only grew. I would watch when I woke up before school, while doing schoolwork, while eating lunch, when I got home, and when I went to sleep. An endless loop of Rory and Lorelai, Rory and Lorelai, Rory and Lorelai.

One day during this cycle, I realized what writing truly is. Writing wasn’t just an essay or a book report, I was a raw display of emotions. It wasn’t clean or well put together. It was messy and smeared across the page in a frenzy of ink and paper. Not every piece of writing is focused on Hamlet or Othello. Some writing is “I had yogurt to breakfast” and “I think I may be developing an allergy to tomatoes”.

The beauty of writing is if you wish to write an essay dissecting Dante’s Inferno, you can. If you wish to write a blog about Gilmore Girls, you can. Whatever you want to write, just write it. Please just write it.

- All my love, Emma