Ever since I learned to write I can remember writing. As a kid I would cut up my drawing papers and make my own little note book where I wrote the long awaited sequal to Roald Dahl’s Witches, or I would get drawing books from school and make lines, for then to continue the stories of Jill Valentine after the T-virus was defeated the first time.
I remember starting my own stories and letting my close friends read them ever since I entered high school. To hear them want to read more made me happy, it was like I was sharing a deep secret that only they could ever understand. I wrote adventures that I read to my little brother when I put him to bed and we felt like we were both on adventures, my brother even cried at times, as his favorite characters faced dangers it seemed they would not recover from. Those are still our stories, and we have never let anyone else read or listen to them, and I know we never will.
But as the times went by, I started to develop my writing a little, and I started writing more in english, something that had left me, if I can say so myself, quite good with understanding english. I started to dare write more dramatic, and I kept writing even harder. I felt like if I just continued, something great would come, something amazing.
Then, around 10 years ago, I started writing a really dark story, and I kept writing it when I could, adding more and more layers until I almost fell in love with my own characters. They were my babies, I had created them and I cared for them, let them grow up, and let them progress as I felt they should. But there was something not right yet, there was like something was missing, something amazing.
That amazing thing started around that same time, all those years ago, I just didn’t know it yet. I hadn’t formed it into the right thing yet. It hadn’t become amazing yet.
With my brother and my cousin I went out to try and create adventures when we found ourselves bored one summer, and we made our own characters to play. I found the name from a manga I read at the time, gave one name to my brother’s character, and the other to my own. A naive creation, a seemingly failure driven wizard, haunted with only knowledge and no luck.
From an innocent and carefree start, a new universe started to expand. My old stories got new form, as I added the blue haired menace of a wizard into all the stories. As a side character or as a unseemly hero. He grew with me, I went to University with him, and he changed as I changed, for good and for bad.
I think I could let someone read my stories through the ages, and they would see how my mentality changes through my stories, through my characters and through how happiness tends to change to darkness. In the start I wrote a happy start for Noin, where he lived a good life and ended up with the Lord of Destiny, who he became apprentice for and learned magic. But as I redid the story around 10 years later, it turned dark and even his time as an apprentice had its dark sides. No longer alone with his Master, but also with a group called the Reapers, all different people with different values in life, and each their dark side.
But through all that darkness, each of them showed that they could face the light. I think I grew and learned that people are not always kind and gentle, I was no longer naive about life, but I wished so hard for kindness that I would stick to all the darkness until at least a shred of light could be salvaged. Until a smile was saved, I would not let it go.
Through hundreds of different stories, with hundreds of different characters and thousands of words, I searched for light, and it was always found. People would find each other, and people would laugh and be happy, and I would find myself smiling and being happy with them. When they cried I would now and again cry with them! But still, even if everyone else were happy, I would always somehow break Noin in the end. If he was happy he would tear everything apart, if he was happy he would break the world down and be left with nothing. In the end, he ended up as nothing but a watcher, that could only watch his loved ones be happy and be sure to keep them happy. He gave everything for his loved ones, and was left with nothing himself. We will never get anything back.
As a person that has always tried my best to do everything right, I help people, and often don’t ask for anything back. I listen to people and try to support them if I can, and through the years I have noticed that most of the time, I get nothing back, and a lot of times I seem to stand back alone, without anything to show for my time, or any sign of gratitude at all. It is like people grab a part of my being each time, and in the end only my essence stands back, and it gets more and more tiering each time. Like I am slowly fading away, and want to scream for someone to notice. I am here. This is me. Listen to me back, please.
But I thankfully have someone who listens, and lends me their strenght, and my way of thanking them is by borrowing their virtues. My cousin’s amazing personality for the villains that just wants to be evil because they can. My first roomate’s playful yet serious demeanour that fit perfect with how Noin’s Master eventually ended up after I lived with her for three years. And my second roomate’s gentle and kind personality she put into her own characters that she let me use for my Reapers.
Through the years I have understood, that Noin is me, and I am Noin. The stories and the character change with my life, and I cannot let him be really happy, because I myself still has yet to reach that. I can write the part of it well, but it will just be an illusion until someone comes along and spreads a neverending happiness in my soul. Until then I will live strong on the kindness of others and the universe of my own creation.
I write because I am nothing without it. I am a silent person normally, and my stories is my voice. It is how I try to let others see my vision and views. My entire life I have been plain, and easy to overlook. I am average at everything, and never really outstanding. I draw, but don’t really feel like I am amazing at it. I sew, but don’t feel like it is any good. I write, but the sad fact is that I have never been outstanding in it. Never once have a teacher taken out my hand ins and read it to the class, never have I even gotten a good grade on a story.
I write to let my voice out, but until I feel strong enough to scream out, no one will ever know these amazing stories as I do, no one will ever know who I am, no one will listen and when my time is over, all I want is for someone else to know who Noin is, and who his precious people are, because, then I at least know I will never be forgotten.
Because, what I have learned from my writing, is that even if a lot of people you meet on the way can suddenly stop talking to you, and even if people go away and leave you alone. Never regret the moments! Live with the memories, and never forget the fun times! All the pain is worth it then, as long as it leaves good memories, if it just leaves sad memories, it was not worth it.
Be happy, be creative! Let no one bring you down, and you can create an universe!