Writing is my passion. I guess you can tell by how many articles I have written for Odyssey and World Of Dance (before they shut their articles page down). How many times I went to various readings such as SOU's BFA Caldera Readings or when SOU Poetry Slam Club set up a slam event or when I went to my first writing conference, Association of Writers & Writing Programs Conference (AWP) in Seattle that became my Birthday weekend, also known as the best weekend of my life.

It is no surprise that I want to make writing my career. However, I didn't want to be a writer in the beginning. My first calling, I thought I would make this my job, was music. I used to be in choir for eight years, dating back to fifth grade. During my time in choir, I loved to sing (I still do!) That same time, I started writing lyrics. They weren't good, but it made me feel proud that I wrote something. I guess you can say music and writing went hand-in-hand. As time goes by, my dream of being a singer didn't last but writing stayed by me. Thus, I started my journey to be a lyricist or in this case, a writer.

When I entered my Advanced Poetry class and my professor told everyone that we were going to make our own chapbooks, I got super excited but also anxious.

Coming from a small community college to a big university, I didn't expect to lose my voice again. When I started Creative Writing, I dreamed of fairytale in a contemporary world with poetic language and freestyle lyrics. My world exploded with scattering colors and words. I thought I could show a big university myself and impress them with my writing.

I had dreams of making my own book. As a kid, I would grab any journal close to my legs and scribble lines on each page as if I had written something spectacular. In seventh grade, I stocked more than 10 copy papers, stapled them into my personalized journal, and titled it: "Lyrics! Written by Asela."

Of course, I didn't expect myself to be that scared. I met many writers who have expanded vocabulary and more vivd imagery. Reading their words I fumbled with my own. My professors struggled to find the right structure for my scattered grammar. I found myself walking into the writing center with guilt weighing on my shoulders, feared that somebody outside of creative writing will read my stuff and say "You're not good after all."

I lost myself. I started to create excuses not to write. Filter my shame by congratulating my peers' success. My mom questioned my passion and warned me that in the future I will run out of ideas. I questioned myself if I was choosing the right path.

Starting writing again with a chapbook seemed like a test. As if I had to prove myself that I wanted this. I was still too scared to screw myself up, let alone writing anything good.

Living in doubt, I took a break from writing and filmed for a web series. I started directing a web series with a friend after she helped act in my project for digital art class. During filming, I realized two things: how much I liked directing and sharing ideas with my friend and how much I missed writing.

So I began my class project: building a chapbook. I had written and edited so many poems that I forgot when I wrote some of them. When I wasn't working on my poems, I also started using Photoshop again. I went out, took pictures, and started working on my cover.

(My rough draft for the cover, Cherry Blossom Festival.)

Piece by piece, I never stopped working. I took every criticism and opinion from fellow writers and friends. Throughout my process, I slowly discovered something I never thought would be there: my voice. Every piece I had written I could hear myself on each page. Many people who had read my work mentioned they could hear my voice but I couldn't. This was the first time I heard my voice on paper.

After I was done putting my chapbook together and printed 50 copies of them (with the help of my poetry professor) for my family, friends, classmates and everyone who helped me to get to this point, I had never felt so proud of myself. Considering how bad my self-esteem was, I actually acknowledged my achievement. I started reading my work outside of classrooms. I began to focus on my point and read it in the way I wanted to. Most of all, I started to know myself again.

(Final version of Cherry Blossom Festival)

This chapbook was a love letter to my abandoned dream in music. Each poem was a song that had its own color and story to tell. It's lyrics painted a beautiful imagery of my mind and heart. This chapbook was my mixtape in the making. My album that deserved a pat on the back, "Welcome back, Asela."

Making a chapbook taught me two things: be more appreciative towards editing and most importantly, never give up on my dreams.