Keyboards and doubts

In the tapestry of my life, there exists a thread woven with ink, a thread that tells the story of a woman who dared to write, a woman who summoned the courage to share her words with the world. That woman is me - a dreamer who yearned to become the author of her own narrative.

My writing journey began with the revelation of an application known as 'Wattpad'. It was a gateway to a realm where words held sway, a digital haven for storytellers and readers alike. As I delved into the works of other writers, a spark ignited within me. I yearned to contribute, to create narratives that would resonate with others as their words had with me. Yet, hesitations lingered, like shadows in the corners of my mind. Was it permissible? Was it the right path? These questions, born of the conservative constraints of my upbringing, whispered doubts into my heart. In a household where young girls were seldom permitted to venture beyond the bounds of school or essential gatherings, every decision I made bore the weight of scrutiny.

For three years, I remained a silent observer, an avid reader, absorbing the symphony of voices that danced across the pages of Wattpad. Then, a pivotal moment arrived. I resolved to pen my own tale, not burdened by the constraints of meticulous planning, but guided by the flow of my heart. The genre, 'Romance', was unfamiliar territory, a landscape unexplored. A few chapters in, I sensed a disconnect, a realization that this genre might not be my forte. With conviction, I chose to halt the narrative, to embark on a new journey. The genesis of the next story was rooted in the struggle of a Muslim African woman. Her journey was an echo of the struggles faced by countless women in a society steeped in patriarchy and judgment. Through her voice, she sought to be the beacon of change, an advocate and a helper for those whose voices had long been suppressed. Yet, this narrative too remained confined to the chambers of my mind, its chapters unwritten, unshared and unpublished.

Years passed, a back and forth carrying me away from the realm of stories and plots. Writing, once an exuberant hobby since my days in middle school, had taken a backseat. Life's demands had swelled, drowning the creative impulse within me. However, the passion persisted, an ember glowing in the recesses of my being. And then, like a phoenix, my passion was rekindled. With newfound vigor, I embraced the joy of writing once more. The hiatus, though lengthy, had not extinguished the fire totally. It had merely tempered it, refining it into a steady, enduring flame.

Through this journey, I learned that writing is not just an act of creation; it is a proclamation of self. It is the audacity to forge a path through uncharted terrain, to challenge norms and transcend boundaries. It is the instrument through which one can amplify the voices of those whose stories deserve to be heard. In retrospect, the detours and abandoned tales were not failures, but rather, signposts on the road to self-discovery. They were the stepping stones that led me to the realization that writing is not defined by genre or structure, but by the authenticity of the voice behind the words.

Today, I stand as a woman who writes and will continue to write, unbound by the constraints that once held me captive. I am the author of my own narrative, a tapestry woven with threads of courage, perseverance, and unyielding passion. Through writing, I have found my voice, and in doing so, I have become an advocate for those who seek to unearth their own. In this odyssey of ink and paper, I have discovered the transformative power of storytelling. It is a power that transcends boundaries, a power that has the potential to reshape perspectives and ignite change. And so, I write, not only for myself, but for the countless others who dare to dream, who dare to raise their voices, and who dare to write their own stories.