The Reason I Write, Even When I'm Lost.

"I want to make people smile with the things I write."

I thought this was the origin of why I write.
Until now.

I started my note as someone who was nobody.

Thinking that, I have written every single day since I started.

Then, thankfully, I began to receive reactions like "You cheered me up," "I learned something," "I'm glad I read this," and "That was interesting."

I was happy from the bottom of my heart.

That the writing of a mere civil servant on leave, who is nobody, could cheer someone up.
That the writing of an ordinary housewife, who wrote hoping it would reach someone, actually reached a reader and received a response.

I felt firsthand how the environment surrounding me and my writing was changing rapidly.

I gained a loyal fan base.
I started to receive a certain amount of 'likes'.

Before long, I began to have dreams about writing.

"I want to become a civil servant essayist."

As I declared in a previous article, this dream has not changed.
I definitely want to make it come true. No, it is a dream I will make come true.

While working as a civil servant, I will make people smile with my essays.

As far as I know, there is no one else following this path.

"You're crazy."

Some people might think that.
There will surely be opinions that I am greedy for trying to pursue both being a civil servant and an essayist.
Some might even laugh from the start, saying it's impossible to achieve both.

But I think to myself: what is wrong with being greedy?
Whether it is wrong to be greedy or not is something you can't know until you try.
Why shouldn't I be the first to become a 'civil servant essayist,' something no one has ever been before?

I decide my own life.

In fact, I declared that in an article.

However, I stalled after that.

It's not that I gave up on my dream.
Yet, I could no longer write with the same lively joy as before.

I managed to keep posting every day out of habit, but it was painful because I couldn't write the way I wanted to.
Worse yet, I started to feel resentful toward my peers who were happily posting every day.

The desire to write and the reality of being unable to write kept drifting further apart.

This isn't how it's supposed to be.
Only my impatience grew.

Even when I read other people's notes or read books, I couldn't find the answer, nor even a hint.

If things continued this way, I might end up hating writing itself.
I might end up abandoning the joy of writing that I had finally found.

Usually, I would be able to honestly write about my struggles and open up, but at that time, my worries were too deep to share. I was driven into a corner that much.

One day, when I thought I might not be able to keep writing anymore,
I happened to reread my past articles.

The reason I write, which I had been searching for, was right here.

Incredibly, the article I wrote moved my own heart.
This was the answer I had lost sight of.

'I want to express my heart.'

Before I knew it, I had become bound by the aspirations and dreams I had set for myself.

Dreams like "I want to make people smile with my writing" or "I want to be a civil servant essayist"
were all derived from my reason for writing.
Yet, I found myself tossed about and unable to move.
And yet, I myself was being tossed about and unable to move.

I finally found it.

I took a detour and almost got lost, but I was able to find my way back on my own again.

To express my heart and have others know it.

This is, indeed, my reason for writing.

I am entering this contest.