and the word was: creativity

Some part of me has always revelled in creativity, in difference, in ways of seeing. Even now, I’m an art groupie, a music junkie, a book devourer, a film lover. (All of which has left me as a jack-of-all-trades-but-a-master-of-none, but that’s another story). For most of my life, however, this need for creativity had found an outlet in my music, as I’d taken up the violin from an early age.

However, having reached university I found that I had to cut down on the amount of time I spent playing, leaving me feeling vaguely adrift. This feeling was particularly strong at the end of my third year, when I suddenly found myself standing at some sort of crossroads. I decided then that my fourth year would be a time of exploring whether I wanted to become an academic, teacher or writer (these being the only career options I could think up that fell within the category of English).

For these reasons, I finally decided in November 2007 that I wanted one of my first-choice electives to be that of creative writing, only to have the course coordinator notify me that I was to please choose another elective as this class was already full. It was this initial setback that persuaded me that I really wanted to write, so I decided that I would definitely spend my fourth year Writing.

Now that I’ve unleashed all this creativity again, I’m desperately trying to shove it back in, just like the unwitting traveller who finally realizes that the djinni is perhaps better off in his small little green bottle. Too many stories, too many words keep on following me everywhere, and they wear me out with pleading to be heard and to be written down. It’s draining – precisely because I keep on fighting it, for some reason.

But now I’ve realized that it’s too late – creativity wins, as it always has.

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