I’m from an Asian country where we are heavily inherited Chinese philosophy that women are born to serve men. I did not think that way since I was child, maybe because my parent did not control my way of thinking and I read many books/ newspapers. I believed that my life has a meaning, and it is not necessary to serve men. I left my hometown to go to study in my country’s capital when I was 18, and started my own life. I studied public relations in journalism university and there I developed my interest for writing.
I started writing blog, and then I wrote on Facebook when it came. I wrote about my life, how I think about love, relationships and life. (By the way, I’m interested in philosophy too). After 3 years since I started my blog, one publisher contacted me to offer to publish my book from all posts that I wrote. At that time, I had 30k followers on Facebook page, all “organically”. Then my book was published. I received so many messages from readers that my book helped them to change their life and follow what really makes them happy, not what their parents, brothers, sisters, cousins, boyfriends, husbands told them to do. I was so happy that something that I wrote for myself became useful for other people too.
But at the same time, people who I considered as friends started to stay away from me. They said that what I wrote is bullshit, that everyone can write “stuffs” like this, that they will buy my book as a “favor” to me. My book has been republished 8 times during 4 years and it was the bestseller in the first year it published. The publisher last year changed its cover to make it more “chic” for next republishing. All of that success and all thankful messages from readers, however, did not lift me up from feeling depression because of what my “friends” said.
I stopped writing.
I spent last few years to question myself, question my book and question the values that I thought I bring to other people. I focused on my work as a marketer and my jewelry business, however, I missed writing. It saved my soul when I was young and lost, and I believe that it would save me for the rest of my life when I feel “lost” again. But when I started writing, I remembered what my “friends” said, and no word can come out from my keyboard.
And then something changed inside me since I had my first child. I felt my time and freedom to do what I love have become limited. If I want to do something to make me happy, I’m better to do it now.
Today I decided to set up a website for me to write, for myself, again. Not to help anyone, not to save anyone, but to enjoy writing because it makes me happy. And this time, if it leads to something bigger than a website, I already have confidence to face destructive feedbacks, because my pure joy of wring has nothing to do with other people’s judgement.