All I know is this: I love writing stories.
For me, creativity comes first—above everything.
There’s a kind of fulfillment I can’t fully explain. It happens when I’m seated in a comfortable chair, a pen in my hand, writing endlessly while my mind races with ideas. In those moments, everything feels aligned. That is where I feel most alive.
And maybe that’s why it’s so hard.
Because in reality—especially where I come from—creativity is often seen as a luxury. Something extra. Something you do after life is taken care of. Not something that sustains you. Not something you can confidently call a profession when bills are waiting.
So guilt creeps in.
Guilt for loving something that doesn’t always pay.
Guilt for choosing passion when responsibilities are loud.
Guilt for wanting more from life than just survival.
And then reality hits: creativity cannot outweigh responsibility.
If life were a weighing scale, responsibilities—jobs, bills, expectations—often tip it heavily in their favor. Creativity sinks. Writing becomes something you squeeze into the cracks of your day. And if you’re not careful, those cracks disappear altogether.
That’s the real fear.
Not failure.
But becoming someone who no longer creates.
Yet, there’s something powerful about passion.
The resilient ones understand this: creativity doesn’t die easily. It waits. It lingers. Even when neglected, it finds a way to return. A sentence forms in your head. A story knocks. A character refuses to be forgotten.
And suddenly—you’re back.
That’s why creativity isn’t the problem. It’s not something to blame when it goes quiet. It’s something that calls you back when you drift too far away from yourself.
So maybe the balance isn’t perfect.
Maybe it’s not about choosing one over the other.
Maybe it’s about refusing to let go completely.
Write when you can.
Protect your passion where you can.
And trust that if it truly lives in you—it will always find its way back.
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