Writing has been a hobby since high school. Poems are my medium for unexpressed emotions. Short stories for daydreams and essays for recurring thoughts.
I never thought it will be my bread and butter. A lover who has been loving me from the very beginning even if I have not given it the love it deserves.
I am not exceptional. I even failed to be part of our college paper. No exemplary awards, no merits, all I knew is, I can scribble a few words and form a thought.
After college, waiting for board exam results gave me time to look for work aside from nursing, besides I needed money to fuel the pre-requisite training.
It was my first job.
I was a writer/virtual assistant in a marketing company. Writing web contents, and doing research, basic in and out of marketing. I was doing well, earning nice then boards came; I passed. He loved me but I turn my back, the minute I saw a spark for a greater lover. I quit and pursued nursing.
I was pursuing another but waiting for yes bores me. I asked, will you love me again?
I am writing again. I landed as a grid writer for a Marketing firm based in Australia. I worked from home, wakes up at 5:30am and writes 6 articles a day, 500 words each, with the right amount of keyword density to be optimized in and off page: guidelines I knew by heart.
I finally got a yes.
I bade goodbye, again. He proposed terms just to make me stay, I still left.
I was mad in love, but it is killing me. Highs were abruptly accompanied by lows. I am often crying in frustration.
The meager wage cannot support a decent way of living, workload is more than one can conquer. Hierarchies, culture, and networks are sucking my idealist view of the world. Fulfillment of healing the sick, cannot feed me, nor my family. But I love him still.
Loving another, I asked, will you love me again?
I was writing game descriptions while doing keyword research and studying online after one hectic duty of saving lives and relieving anxieties of relatives.
Years past, I am trying to love them both without ceasing.