I started regularly journaling maybe since I was ten. I gradually fell in love with this exercise. I loved to keep a notebook with me all the time. I wrote when I felt happy, sad, or bored. I wrote when inspirations hit me or just for the sake of passing some extra time. I also fell in love with books at a young age. Books set off my imagination. The more I read, the more eagerly I wrote. Over time, writing became so natural for me that whenever I got a writing assignment from school, I’d happily treat it as fun as play. When my essay was read in front of the whole class, even the class next door; when I started to have articles published on students’ newspapers or magazines and won writing awards, I knew I was good at this.
In my junior high school, I read a book written by a journalist about his experience in the Iraq war. Something ignited in me when I finished the last page of the book. I thought to myself, “I’m going to be a war journalist one day.”
Sure enough, I went to study International journalism at university and successfully got my bachelor’s degree.
After graduation, the typical path for me and my classmates would have been either advanced education or finding an entry position in any media company. But I chose neither of these. Because I had found a new faith during my Uni years—- I became a Christian. You have to know it’s a rare thing in my country. I only knew a handful of people who were believing in the same God as I was back then.
I had a real encounter with this God. Jesus Christ subverted my life, my value system, and the way I was viewing success in life… So I made a very different choice—- I signed up for a training program provided by a mission organization, with a single intention to know God better.
I fell in love with this organization. A couple of months turned into a couple of years. I traveled the world to bring the gospel to the unreached and to train new believers. I loved the Presence of God in this community, and surely I came to know Him better.
Ten years later, a new season arrived. I left the organization, got married, and became a mom.
I keep thinking about my relationship with writing. Now with a toddler and 36 weeks of pregnancy, I need to intentionally make time to write if I ever want to write anything. Whenever I get into it, I still love it. It’s like having tea with an old friend. By the end of the conversation, I always feel more clear-minded and refreshed.
I most likely won’t be a war journalist in this life, like I once wished. But what about becoming a professional writer? I guess the inner voice is a “yes,” but I feel scared of this idea, even though I was trained to be a professional writer in the area of journalism a long time ago.
I’ve been wrestling with this idea for a while now. I still don’t have a specific answer or plan. Perhaps you don’t need a title to fulfill your function— to do the things you are made to do. I guess I will keep writing and see where the journey leads and who I’m becoming. After all, a chef cooks, a painter paints, and a writer writes.