This semester, I registered for another Creative Writing module, namely Creative Non-Fiction. CW classes are incredible and I'm so blessed to be able to take them in school.

Last semester, my Intro to CW classes were the ones that always made my week. My tutor was all things amazing. Pooja Nansi, who is an inspiring writer and poet, was funny, witty, helpful, generous, and encouraging. She made me look forward to every Tuesday morning, because I just know I'll leave class with a stomach aching with laughter and a mind filled with different ideas.

Another reason why I absolutely love CW classes is because of what it made me do. It made me write. And a lot of the time, that saved me. My time in uni is getting increasingly loaded with tasks and expectations, and most of the time, these loads become too heavy for my feeble shoulders.

Writing is my saviour. It's the coping mechanism I need. Some people write for fun, some write to express. And some write to save themselves. My reasons have a broad range, but more often than others, the reasons revolve around the need to save myself.

I write every day, everywhere, anywhere, because I need to. I sound like I'm describing a drug, and maybe I am. It's difficult to move on from the mess that resides in my head without the attempt of conveying it through words. I'd be a much terrible person than I possibly already am if it weren't for my act of reading and writing.

CW classes push me beyond that simple and personal need to write. I get to write with a clearer goal in my mind: to impress in addition to my need to express. I also learn more techniques, and I get inspired by the other writers in my class. I am exposed to a variety of readings that serve as supplements to my creativity, and there are people whose role is to expand on my existing ideas.

And the best part of CW class is the fact that I don't write only for myself. I write with the conscious aim to make better sense and appeal to readers. The deadlines that chase me push me beyond my own capabilities, and this helped me churn out better work. One poem I shared in November is one of the results of that.

I know the criticism formal creative writing classes get from various people. It's restrictive, it's graded based on bias, it kills creativity rather than foster it. But I highly beg to differ. Creative writing classes aren't as narrow as you'd think. Most of them are run by amazing teachers, and are filled with students who carry with them the desire to learn, improve, and help others do the same.

Right now, I know I still have so much more to learn. And a long, arduous path is ahead of me before I can ever call myself a good writer. Having a CW class helps me through that path, because it pushes me to write. And in times when things are so difficult I feel like I have to scrape the edges of my soul for inspiration, on days when I have nothing to express because I feel like the whole world bears its weight on my weak body, being pushed to write is what I want. Being pushed to write is what I need.

The First Day is the Busiest" is something I wrote spontaneously – without proofreading, without stopping to check and rewrite – in my first Creative Writing class this semester. Enjoy!

If you see a full campus, it is highly likely that it’s the first day of something. It could be the first day of the week, the first day of the exam season, or the first day of the year. More often than not, the busiest day is often the first day of the semester.

On this day, everyone is going somewhere. Bustling walkways and busy roads. Cars, buses, motorcycles, pedestrians, they fill up the paths as they move towards their first lesson of the first day in university. Some laugh in groups, again they are able to meet their friends after weeks of travelling or camping at home. Some walk in solitude, a cloud hung above them, possibly realizing that their free time has ended and today is the day they return to the grind.

As usual, the drinks stall has the queue that is longest. Students, teachers, staff workers alike all unite in their desire to have the delightful surge of coffee energy running through their veins. They wait patiently for their turn to engage in the extremely quick transaction with the stall Auntie, who very efficiently tends to one customer every five seconds.

Some students, myself included, forget the geography of school. We get lost and we refer to our phones for the reminder of orientation. And when we are faced with the school map, we are once again struck by the realization that school has begun, holidays have ended, and 13 weeks of learning, studying, socializing, exploring, and breaking down, are ahead of us.

I come across a friend who, like me, got lost. In the lift, we manage to catch up briefly on what happened in our holidays and the modules we have in our schedule. When it was time to part, we bid our goodbyes and wish each other luck, but not without the somewhat promise of continuing our session to catch up. I am unsure of whether we will keep the somewhat promise, but it was strangely comforting nonetheless to know that someone somewhat wants to extend a conversation with you. Such is the uncertainty and transience of most friendships in university, and the first day, when it is likely to meet so many people as you go about carrying out your errands, is a day to encapsulate that fleeting emotion.