I can still remember the moment my father asked me, “What can you get in writing? Will writing provide you a food once you’re starving?” I don’t know what does he meant when he asked me that. But, I am partially offended. I am. Yet I only smiled. I answered him my sweetest smile. He just shook his head with disappointment and then left me in the dining area with my pad of paper and pen, and then I continued writing.
I can still remember when my mother told me, “There are so many famous and successful writers around the world. Why’d you choose writing when you obviously know that you has no future on that.” I don’t get her. I am not writing for fame and for money. I badly wanted to tell her that but then again, I only smiled.
I can still remember the moment my brother told me, “You won’t get rich with writing. Just focus on your job.” As he finished her statement and looked at me with his eyes full of sarcasm, I smiled.
But behind those smiles, is a girl trying to win her battle with demons every night. Trying to win over the reasons why she’s crying at night. Trying to escape from the evils inside her head through writing. Because she believes that writing will save her.
She hopes, that writing will save her. Because she’s now waving the flag of defeat. Letting go of the pen and holding the knife, it seems like she will no longer win her fight.