A single item can tell more
about a person than they could ever find the words for. Evidence of their life:
their past, their present, their dreams for the future, telling stories only
that person knows. Even the smallest
details could tell the biggest stories.
Such as an unnoticeable
name tag, hidden behind an old corsage, mini statues of the Eiffel Tower, Empire
State Building, and the Statue of Liberty; these items show more about me than
my five foot tall teddy bear sitting at the end of my bed. It sounds silly for
something so simple to be such a big part of my life, a tiny name tag that
means almost as much to me as the dog tags around my neck. I've never been in
the military, these tags aren't mine, but the name tag is. I wore it when I was
in JROTC, similar to military in high school without the commitment. It’s what
really fueled my interest in writing, as odd as it sounds. In a place that sees
everyone the same, I strived to be different somehow. I knew standing next to
everyone else, looking the same as me. It made me want to be MORE than just
another person in uniform. I started writing anything I could and even though I
knew it really wasn't all that good, I wrote anyways. On the sides of notes and
in journals I would write down any idea that came to mind, even if they were
terrible ideas.
Even though I was only in
JROTC for a year, my need to write grew stronger; it was fuel to a flame that couldn't be put out. The next year I decided to take a creative writing class
and my ideas flourished, but were still very juvenile. I learned great
techniques on how to motivate my ideas and get them on paper. All the while, my
name tag was pinned inside my backpack as small reminder of why I started to
write. My last two years of high school I was involved in the Literary
Magazine, a publication of student artwork and writing. I fell in love with
recognizing people for the art they did and while in the class I was on the
design team where I cultivated my skills in graphic design. I never managed to
have anything published in it, but I was proud to have my name in the staff
pages.
To this day, I jot down story
ideas and plots on spare bits of paper. Some of them go into a blog I recently
started about my life as an Airman’s significant other, but most go in a drawer
unless they’re alluring enough to draw me in and let me explore them. Every
time I write I look up at my hidden name tag, the one no one can see except me,
and I remember why I love to write.
