In class, as we fell into our routine of beginning with the usual “automatic writing” – writing freely as the words tumble from our hearts and minds and through our fingers, without the worry of it sounding strange or awkward – my tutor asked us to stop for a moment and think about this question:

“What is your strength as a writer?”

He told us to think about all the feedback we have gotten through the weeks, and our experiences as a writer throughout the years. What do we do well as a writer? What is something we are good in when we use our words?

Everyone paused and thought for a while.

Within a few moments, people began to write. The sound of fingers tapping away at the keyboard filled the air. The passionate scratches of pencil and pen penning down thoughts joined in and soon, the classroom silence was complemented with an orchestra that symphonized writing.

I, however, remain stumped. I am still not sure. I do not know what my strength as a writer is. I do not know how good I am, or what I do well in. While everyone else may be penning down what they deem is their strength, I am sitting here typing all of this. I am uncertain, I am unsure. What am I good at? What is my strength? Do I even have any? Am I even any good? These are the questions that swarm my head every single day, every single moment as I write.

I suppose, even though I may be unfamiliar with my strengths in writing, even though I may not be sure what I am good at, I do not wish to stop to figure it out. Is there a need to stop and figure it out? Perhaps there is. It is often good to know what you're good at, so you could sharpen those skills and bring more benefit out of it.

But I really am not sure. I just keep writing, I keep trying. I may suck (every day, my mind tells myself I do) in what I absolutely love to do, but I do not wish for that thought to form itself as an obstacle. I will keep writing on and on and on.

And one day, when I finally figure out what my strength is, if I ever figure out what my strength is, I’ll pat myself on the back. I’ll do it only for a very short while. Because I’m not writing to know how I’m good at it. I write because I do. Because I have to.