Perhaps people thought of me as weird when I said I enjoy writing essays. There was just something fascinating to me about the works we were studying, not only because they had a grade riding on me being able to pull that fascination out. I am fascinated by literature, by the intent that can be directed through a story both so close to my experiences yet completely different. Was Hamlet not about the responsibilities a teenager felt he had to his family, his loved ones, the people who relied on him? Was To Kill a Mockingbird not written about a completely different time, set in a completely different place, filled with ideas I have only thought about and never experienced? How can I look at these representations of myself and not want to express what they mean to me?
I realize now that I have erred when I claimed to enjoy writing essays. After all, writing about myself is hell. To talk about myself for other people to read honestly disgusts and troubles me. I feel as if I am not being genuine enough, yet I also feel as if I am sharing too much. “Who would care about this that much? Who are you to think about what they care about? Should I not be considerate of their time and thoughts?” Such thoughts run through my head and I can do nothing to stop them.
I will gladly write an essay about the latest book I read, and why it should be read by everyone, if you would like. If you would like me to talk about why I enjoy reading books, your request can be placed in the suggestion box (trash can) two meters behind me.
While writing these essays for college applications about myself, I often wonder why I am struggling. Writing has always felt decently natural, including when I would describe my thoughts in a way that made it clear it was my analysis. So why is this so difficult? Perhaps it is that I fear other people knowing about myself. What interpretations would they take away? Am I responsible if a misshapen version of me appears in their mind as a result of my writing? Perhaps it is that I do not know myself well enough to write on the topic. What if I am unsure about this subject? Should I pretend to be certain and risk being found out as unsure, or should I be genuinely unsure and come off as wishy-washy? Would me being sure of myself come off as arrogant? Would it represent someone with drive? To write explicitly about myself without using something else as a proxy horrifies me.
My favorite music is about fictional characters. These artists take the story of a character they connect to and use song to express similarities across both their lives, passing on a message about their experiences. My most played song of 2023, inspired by Rengoku from Demon Slayer, is about not giving up in the face of adversity and finding the spark within you even when all hope feels lost. Will I ever find that spark? Will I ever feel the flames of desire for something or someone? My most played song of 2024 was about King Arthur, and concerns the obligation you feel to others. What do I owe to the people supporting me, and what is it they expect from me – both for me to do, and for me to return to them? What role do I have in the world, and how will those who I do not know see me?
I wonder if this counts as writing about myself, or if it is yet another essay about something I have read. My thoughts are on the page, but they are this time about me. I wonder how they will be perceived, and what people will take them to mean. I decided not to struggle with these words, to simply let them flow naturally out of me as if there was nobody to judge.
There is always someone to judge.