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Disillusion

It just struck me, although fairly recently, that I can’t write.

Writing have always seemed easy to me. I would just ramble on, pages and pages filled with my handwriting. For schoolwork mostly, my grades will usually be above average. Thus, I was always convinced that my grasp of the English language, and certainly my writing ability, was above average. It wasn’t until we learnt about the theory of distribution, and the ever so fickle bell-curvethat I realised that every above average grade was unique in each scenario.

The thought of writing seems simple, a continuous torrent of words onto the blank pages until the examiners announced that time’s up and we should stop writing (or put your pants pens down). Until I took the SAT, I never knew about the importance of syntax and didn’t realise that my standard of grammar is actually deplorable. Perhaps that was why a good friend of mine in the past used to laugh when I told her that I wanted to be an English teacher.

Up until very recently, I used to obsess over my writing style. Under our education system, narrative writing stopped at the end of O levels and even now, it is eliminated from the syllabus. We are trained purely for academic essays, business and incident reports. I cannot deny the fact that my style of writing is rather inconsistent and dry.

I do wonder when people consider themselves as writers.

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