MAYBE THIS IS WHAT PASSION IS
By Fiona Liaw
My first ever published piece in a newspaper was during an internship at the newsroom. It was a story about a friend and while I don’t even remember what he did that was so worth writing about, I do remember that his family was very excited. That same internship, I covered a second piece about another friend travelling across Europe. Again, no big deal, right?
Well prior to this, his family and him had been having a cold war for months—that story broke the ice between them. His parents were suddenly speaking to him again, and proudly showing everyone how their son had made the papers. I began to realise that no matter how small the story, telling it can make a difference.
I would love to say that these experiences are what convinced me I would be a writer, but they did not. In fact, much of my life was trying to escape writing.
It’s not that I didn’t like words. I’ve always loved stories and as a kid, I wanted to become a writer. Of course, I was dutifully informed on many occasions that it would be impossible. I mean, “wah you want to be author ah? You think you who? Like Harry Potter that woman ah? Cannot one”.
And so, I obeyed. I tried to enter the science stream in junior college, only to quit after three months in favour of the arts. I tried to go to business school for university, but mid-way through my first semester, applied for a transfer….yes, to arts.
As all my friends moved on with clarity about being doctors, lawyers and bankers, I struggled with what I would do with my life and concluded I should just make money.
I did a whole range of part-time jobs, from waitressing to telemarketing, to roadside surveys—and frankly I applied for an internship at the newsroom only because the pay of $50 a day appealed to me. Plus, I wanted to get out of begging people on the street to talk to me. On my first day I remember feeling excited and that this was “right”. I later found out I would still be begging people on the street to talk to me. Funnily enough, this time it was less of a pain.
Four internships later, I graduated, still clueless about what to do next. I attempted a short stint in the civil service, before falling into video production, again, as a writer.
What I told myself would be a temporary arrangement until I found a “real adult job that pays”, turned into four years in a black hole of producing, directing and client management. I finally left, resolved to take a few months off to decide what I really wanted to do.
That was in 2014. Much to the chagrin of my well-meaning relatives who are certain that writing (especially freelance) is not a real job, I have done so and survived.
I’ve always thought of passion as a fire. I imagined it would be large and consuming. I told myself that if I were passionate, I would be burning with excitement, great ideas and the desire to make change. I would boldly overcome obstacles and be special enough that opportunity would come knocking. Since I’m not, perhaps I’m not passionate about writing.
But do I like it? Yes, most definitely. There is beauty in a well-structured sentence and a well-placed word. There is satisfaction in being able to create order when there is chaos and make what is difficult to understand become easy. There is joy in being able to communicate. And uncool though it may be, it is still an irrationally moving experience to hear interviewees share about their hopes and challenges they have overcome. The list goes on, but most importantly, I have never woken up and said: “I don’t want to write”.
So maybe my “passion” is more of a tiny flame than a blazing fire. But it still burns bright. And it has burned consistently.
Fiona doesn’t know if she pursued writing or if writing pursued her. But they are now in a committed relationship.