Let Me Take You Back…
I started off wanting to write this final showing you the journey I went through as a writer. Presenting the growth that I am so proud of, through a piece from each of the years I was in creative writing, but I knew that wouldn’t do justice to explain how eternally grateful I am to have taken this class, to have had people see and appreciate my work and to believe that my voice is important enough to be heard.
Looking back at my grade 10 self, I barely recognize her. She was scared. She was always trying to be someone she wasn’t, mould her voice to what she thought those around her wanted to hear. The idea of vulnerability forced her into a place of not wanting to take a step without knowing exactly where it led. She craved comfort, acceptance and approval of those around her, so she waited until she saw what they liked and tried to write that way. Even with her friends, she had a different mask on each day, trying to be what they wanted even if it meant hiding who she really was. At home, she tried to maintain a face of happiness, to make sure her parents didn’t worry. She didn’t want them to think that all the sacrifices they made for her to be at this school and lead the life she had were for nothing because she couldn’t find what made her happy.
She was quiet, for she didn’t think raising her voice would do anything more than force those around her to reconsider whether they wanted her in their lives. This forced her to remain closed off in a box- unable to move, unable to grow, unable to develop as a writer. She wanted creative writing to be that sanctuary, she felt different there; calm amidst the chaos. But when she was unable to let her guard down, she didn’t get very much from this class this year. At the end of her first year of creative writing, she vowed she would try to be better, try to trust the class, trust the teacher, trust the people. She wanted something to define her, she wanted an identity.
She wanted a safe-haven.
It was the second semester of grade 11 and she finally felt like she understood what she needed to do to feel like herself. She found an amazing group of friends and was finally reconnecting with her family. She felt safe. Over the summer, she built one of the strongest bonds with her brother- one that hasn’t broken to this day. He was her best friend. He helped her move to a place of accepting who she was, loving who she was even if she didn’t completely understand herself. This helped her go into grade 11, and specifically, creative writing. She walked in that class determined to allow her writing to define her. She wanted her writing to represent a part of her that regular words wouldn’t do justice. She wanted a sense of accomplishment, a sense of stability and she wanted to get the most out of this class.
The second she walked in, she knew nobody. Every ounce of confidence she walked in with had somehow escaped her and she was back to trying to find comfort in that box. But no- this was grade 11- she had to be different. She loved reading, she loved writing- it was an escape that allowed her to step back and really understand herself. Escape from the people who didn’t believe in her, escape from the moments she tried to forget. Heal the things people or things never could. Face what she thought she never would be able to.
She stayed quiet still, but her teacher saw something special in her. Her teacher lit a spark within her and didn’t let her blow it out. That spark was poetry. Poetry became her obsession, allowing her to find a purpose, a reason to write about everything running through her mind endlessly. It was hard to trust people to see her this vulnerable, to allow this deep, intense part of her heart & soul to be online, for all to see. She held back, only posting the things she knew certain people would like. The rest was held captive in the notebook she didn’t let anyone see. Creative writing was her safe space, her safe haven.
Until she lost her aunt.
Her aunt was a person that symbolized safety and comfort. Losing her was one of the hardest things she had to go through- but she lived. She lost herself for a while, questioning the truth about our life, questioning the legitimacy of life if the good ones were always taken away. Her writing became darker, more personal. Posting on her blog, sharing in class, being anything more than another student became distant thoughts. She couldn’t find herself, how was she going to write as if that would solve any of these problems?
But she did- for the sake of her grade, for the sake of not disrespecting the class. It turned out to be one of her most amazing pieces- one that allowed her to start the healing process. Tears were shed while she wrote that, but revelations were made. She understood the only way to really heal was to deal and face your emotions. Writing, and specifically, poetic writing was her way of healing.
She found a safe-haven.
She just needed to learn to trust this safe haven.
Grade 12. My last year in creative writing. This semester was my last chance to be in a class that has brought me unimaginable and indescribable peace. I don’t know if I will ever be able to express the comfort I had walking into this class, day in, day out, knowing this is a place where I belonged. A place where I could understand who I was without the pressure of being judged by a number. I knew this was my safe haven. And this year, I allowed myself to trust it, trust the people in it and trust that my voice needed to be heard. So, from the very first day, I participated because I wanted my opinion and voice to matter. I shared my blog because I am proud of it. I let myself build relationships with the people in the class because I wanted to learn and grow from them- people like Abhay, Nazeefa, Zaid and Simran.
I put effort into letting this class do the most for me. I trusted my voice enough to share some of my most personal, most intense writing. I tried harder on each of my blog posts, pages and requirements. I learned as much as I could about authors from writer seminars and connecting to my author on a deeper level.
I fell in love with reading political pieces, looking at our world deeper.
Writing became my way of healing. I allowed the readers of my blog, my classmates, my teachers to see the emotions I tried to hide in the past. I healed from love lost, which let me accept the love I was presented with.
I read books that challenged my comfort zone. I wanted to be the person who could quote great poets amidst conversations and fall in love with someone who read the same books as I did.
I used my last River Walks to teach me to really cherish the moments we forget to. My heart wept after Bow View Manor, seeing the difference my writing made to a stranger.
My class became my family. I let them see the lighter sides of me, I let myself open up to people I am constantly surprised by.
I broke my walls down because I finally understood the walls don’t keep the things we fear out- it just creates a divide between what we could be, what we want to be and what we are forced to be because of divides.
I learned what allowing myself to be me; no masks or hidden emotions felt like and I never want to go back to being scared of letting people know the real me.
I made the decision to let this class allow me to grow to such an extent that I can say I do not recognize- nor do I want to- the person who originally walked into Creative Writing 15.
I learned more this semester than I ever have, and I am eternally grateful for everything this class did for me as a writer, reader and person.
I am so proud of who I have become because of this class.
I found my safe-haven.
I trusted my safe-haven, and in turn, I was able to grow from my safe-haven.
My safe-haven has become my home. It will always be my home.
I don’t know if anyone will ever really understand the love and appreciation I have for this class. In every activity, every lesson, every River Walk, every writer seminar- I was learning. I learned about things no other class would have taught me, I grew in ways no other class would have given me space to. I made some of my best friends in this class and I found some of my biggest inspirations in this class. I found an appreciation for non-fiction. I continued to love and write poetry. I learned how to heal, how to accept change, how to embrace growth. Taking creative writing was the best decision I have ever made, which I hope is clear through this reflection.
More than anything though, I hope you (as the reader) allow yourself to find your safe-haven and trust it.
Thank you for being on this journey with me. You may never understand the extent to which you have helped me grow as a writer, but more than anything, a person.
Forever love and grattitude,
Alyna <3
Taking Creative Writing for three years taught me more than I could ever put into words, but here are some of the key lessons every current, future and past student should consider.
Key Lessons from Creative Writing:
- Your voice matters- no matter how inconsequential you think it is. It is important. They need to hear it.
- You will get exactly how much you put into this class. Let this class be a safe place.
- Allow yourself to be vulnerable even if you don’t trust everyone in this class. It’ll let you grow.
- Write in different genres- try something new.
- Use every lesson/activity to your advantage. Experience means you have something to write.
- Don’t get mad if you get called on to share: it means she wants to hear your voice. Get a little arrogant: it’s okay.
- Don’t write what you think we want to hear. Write what matters to you, write what you know.
- Be nice to everyone in the class. You can be a family if you try.
- Your classmates are more amazing and brilliant than they will ever admit. Force them to show you their secrets; learn from them.
- Trust yourself. I cannot stress that enough. You know yourself best- write what you know.
