I am a writer

I’ve realised something.

I’m a writer. Wondering how I know… I think like one. I can’t just relax and have normal breakfast like everyone else around me without noticing how they eat. How they carry themselves, etc.

I noticed this morning as I was having breakfast and couldn’t wait to get back to my room and write about it. Not only then, but for the most part of my days, (especially when I’m not doing anything, like chilling on the train or whatever) my brain starts wondering off into a place far far away. Not exactly sure where this place is, but it goes there for a number of different reasons, usually it’s my creative space really. The same place I go for my designs and stuff.

I don’t go all crazy and start lighting candles and burning incense all over the place. Just that my brain sort of goes into overdrive.

I’m no longer able to do anything without thinking about writing it. Ok not necessarily anything.

But the point I’m making here is that I’m transforming into something here. Something I like. Something I’ve pretty much always been. A writer. Though I must admit I haven’t always been a writer. I think before I became a writer, I was and still am first and foremost a reader. I am an appreciator of words in all their form; from poetry to lyrics to articles and everything else in between.

As I sit here in my little hotel room 800+ kilometres away from home. I figured it’s only fair to jot down everything that happens to and around me over the next month or so. I’ve already got two pieces for today. The 1st of December 2008.

I thought of the second one just this morning as I was having my breakfast…
I don’t think I’m gonna lead a normal life in a long while. And I’m not complaining one single bit.

:P