From a very young age, I have been encouraged to write. Whether it was purely academic or just for my emotional benefit, I would write it down. I was introduced to the latter when my mother gave me a plain journal in 2006. Every other night I would have a new entry and I would hide it in a new location so nobody could read – what I thought was embarrassing and unimportant – my stories. By the next year I only wrote once every couple of months. Then it turned into once or twice a year. Whenever I felt motivated to write in the journal a wave of excitement will rush over me because I like looking at how my manuscript has changed over the years or read how mature my thoughts have become. I brought my journal with me to school and I plan to document all the crazy moments that will occur in the next four years.
As I moved on through middle and high school, academic writing only got minimally challenging. Then a reality called the International Baccalaureate Program showed me the depths of hell. Writing was life my junior and senior year with the Internal Assessments, Theory of Knowledge essay, and Extended Essay. Even my notes were a struggle at first. However, I started to write with more fluidity and charisma. No longer was I the only person in the audience to read my beliefs and observations; the items I think are meaningful. The best consequence was that I learned how to evaluate my writing and the papers of my peers, and I will happily use this skill in the coming weeks.