Ok, hear me out. During this unprecedented global crisis, I've seen this thing everywhere. On YouTube, Instagram, Tik Tok. Everyone is saying that they're finally doing what they've always wanted to do. Sourdough bread is flying everywhere and there's a weird binary code meme going around. Everything that people want to do that they "never have time for" is something creative. And I hope that when this crisis is over, people remember that artists and creatives were the ones that helped them relax.

But, there's a catch. People who are constantly producing content year-round for people's consumption can be sick and tired of what they're passionate about.

I like to write. I think that's no secret. I write on this blog, on my own personal blog, for my school's newspaper, for two clubs, on top of my regular courses in school. I love to write. Sometimes words just flow from my head unto the page with ease. This is not one of those times. I am struggling to keep writing and to keep my passion alive. It just feels redundant and I know this is not just a simple case of writer's block. I'm burned out and I find it really difficult to produce quality and relatable content that people want to read.

But, I'll never stop. I'm going to keep writing because I know that it's an outlet for my feelings and to express my passions. I haven't been able to write the way I want to, and that's really frustrating. I want people to read my articles and see what I'm passionate about or read my advice on how to navigate this crazy world. But, I know that if I just keep the words flowing, eventually I will get my stride back.

But until then, enjoy this horrible poem I wrote in the 9th grade. I read it while I was cleaning out my Google Drive and it physically made me laugh. It's bad, it's cringy, so I'm not really sure why I'm putting it on the internet for everyone to see. But, here it is. I hope it can serve as a reminder to everyone who loves writing, my fellow creators, that writing badly is okay. It shows our progress from the past and the bright future we have in front of us.

I'm from a desk lamp,

from milk and a vase.

I am from the garden in my backyard,

the smell of onions and garlic.

I am from the oak tree,

the japanese cherry blossom

whose long gone limbs I remember

as if they were my own.

I'm from Sunday dinners and vanilla ice-cream

from mom and dad

I'm from reading books and family outings

and from yearly vacations.

I'm from be kind to all and never judge

and every choice has it's consequences

I'm from sledding in the snow

I'm from New York and Guyana

Rice and Curry

My brother's two pet turtles

That were names after my grandparents

Old faded photos and rolls of film

in my living room.

I am me.