I like to think I am a writer. I might not have graduated with a degree majoring in writing or journalism, but I can write. I know how to write. I love to write. I am happy if I find the time to write. I write.
Now that I am a mother and a partner, a working mom so to speak, I rarely have enough time to finish the things or even to start doing the things that I wanted to accomplish. There are just so many things to do at home – in addition to the 40 hours a week you devote to the office, and the 6 hours or so you devote to learning Dutch. The things that I would love to do: writing, scrapbooking, reading, browsing the internet for ideas – are lovingly put aside for some other time – time like this: when I am too tired to do the ironing and wish that we have a machine that will do it for me.
My friends thought that I have already forgotten that I have a blog to maintain. I have not. Never have I forgotten. I actually always think otherwise – that I start the day telling myself that today I am going to write a piece of myself. You know, if you start writing, words just come.
I studied my blog again, and clicked on the other bloggers who followed me. Some of them have published books! Most of them are really good writers. Others are blossoming artists, I think, maybe like me.
Most of them are parents.
They “like” my posts. They follow my blog.
Maybe I do make sense after all.