Hello friends.

So this question has been plaguing me for a few weeks now and I still don’t know how to answer it. Are you still considered a writer if you don’t write? Can you still call yourself a writer if it’s been awhile since you’ve written anything worthwhile?

Before everything else, the first word I used to describe myself was a writer. I was constantly daydreaming about storylines of future books or plotting out my next book. I went through notebooks like crazy because I was constantly writing snippets of dialogue or ideas down. Even when I was working on a project, I was still thinking of the next one. If I was busy in school and not able to work full time on a manuscript, I wrote poetry and short verses. It just had to be done.

Like some people breathed out air, I breathed out words. It was my way of surviving in the world and coping with life: writing it down .

After I began this blog, it became my primary source of writing. I still wrote in my notebooks, but now I transcribed those scribblings to share with the world. If my stories couldn’t be public, I still found pleasure in sharing brief bits of myself and my thoughts with the world.

This was of course during a time when not many people knew about this blog. I was able to share my feelings and emotions through my writing in my little corner of the internet. But the more I added content (like recipes), the more the blog grew and more friends and family found out about it. I was more self-conscious about what I wrote, but still posted my writing.

Then I got married. My life totally changed. I wanted to express all these new changes on here, but for certain reasons, I couldn’t. With all the changes, I also stopped writing for me.

I knew that I wouldn’t be writing any novels anytime soon after getting married, but I didn’t realise that all writing would stop. It wasn’t intention. But as I take stock of the past several months, I realise how little I’ve sat down to write. Whether it’s this blog or personal writing, it’s all pretty much disappeared.

The other night when I couldn’t sleep, I went through the writing category of this blog and started reading all of my old poems and freestyle verses, I was struck by this immense sense of longing. As I read over everything I had ever posted, I remembered how much I loved it, how liberating it would feel to express myself, to put pen to paper (or finger to keyboard). Not only that, but I was good at it. I’m not saying this to boast, but I enjoyed reading my writing.

Just like a photograph, they brought back a whole slew of memories and emotions. And not just that, they reminded me of a time when writing was my life. It was all I wanted to do with my time, everything I aspired to be.

Reading old posts and verses and poems reminded me of my old self. I’m not saying I want to go back to that time (it was awful), but I do miss my love for writing and the way it was such an integral part of who I was.

I still think of myself as a writer, but as I looked back at everything, it led me to ask myself whether I had the right to call myself that anymore. I hardly write anything for myself anymore. Just a few snippets of poetry here and there, but nothing major. Am I still a writer?

And as I sit here writing this post, pausing every now and then to try and figure out my thoughts, I come up with a thousand reasons why I don’t write as much anymore. But even to my own ears some sound more like excuses rather than reasons.

But the biggest reason (or call it excuse if you will) is time. I don’t have the time. There’s so many other things I have to do now that some days I don’t even touch my computer till night (and that’s so rare for me). The other blog takes up more of my time now because I run it like my job. And when I do have some spare time, I’m not in the emotional space to write. My brain is just too tired.

When you write, you have to pour a little bit (or a lot) of yourself into your work. Think of it like Riddle’s diary in Chamber of Secrets lol; Ginny ended up pouring so much of herself into the diary. That’s the way my writing has always been; it requires a lot from me. And these days I don’t have a lot to give.

I know there’ll come a time when I’ll get used to things and be able to balance things better. And so I’m willing to put certain things on hold till then. But I just hope my ideas don’t run dry and that my inspiration doesn’t run out.

I often think of starting a journal, just as a way to express myself because some days I feel like I need to do it in order to feel sane. But again, I never make it to the notebook or to the computer and then the day is done and the emotions end up staying locked up. 🙁

So I guess my answer to the question I’ve been asking myself for weeks is YES. Even if all I do is write a few posts like these here and there or a few verses, I still think of myself as a writer. Because I plan on coming back to it one day soon, inshAllah. It doesn’t matter if it’s in a few months or in a year or two. It’s such a huge part of my past and it’ll always be a part of me. I just have to figure out a way to keep it from drying out.

Anyways, I think this long, rambly post has gone on long enough! I’m not sure who even reads this blog anymore given the sporadic nature of posts, but oh well. It feels good to just get it all down 🙂

As always, thanks for reading,

Ikhlas