Maybe...

I walked into the kitchen with the hope that she will finally stop with her nagging. But no, she followed right after me.

" You should seriously consider taking up writing as a profession, Erica. Your work at the cafe is crap." She said, settling into a chair behind the island.

I sighed heavily. What's it with her and my writing anyway? At least, I'm okay with it just being a hobby.

" Maybe this is the right time to make that decision, y'know? She added.

" I appreciate your concern Mia, but I'll prefer to leave writing as a hobby." I replied.

She nodded and I knew better than to believe that will be all.

" But you're an amazing writer Erica." She whined. " You are a born natural."

I smiled widely. Comments about my writing is something I've gotten used to. Growing up, I always wanted to be something inspiring. And that something is writing. How you can just use your imagination to write things to give people inspiration is what I feel like I was born to do. But my self-doubt won't let me do anything worthwhile about it.

" I love writing for myself and you guys just for the fun of it. Writing is 100% a hobby for me and an incredibly fulfilling one. I honestly don't think I'm cut out to be a professional writer. My works are shits compared to others out there."

" Now don't give me that." She scowled at me. " You've always loved writing and you're damn good at it. It's your life... don't let this silly doubt take it away from you."

" Mia..."

She raised a finger at me, cutting me off. " You listen to me, Erica. Not a word from you till I'm done."

I stared at her, gazing into her deep blue eyes as she gazed into mine. After a moment, I looked away.

" Okay?" She asked, snapping a finger at me.

" Do I have a choice here?" I chuckled.

" We've been best friends since diapers Erica, and I know you more than anyone else. You love creating whoever and whatever you want. You not only find it relaxing, it has reached the point where it has consumed your entire life. You can't help it, you live and breathe words. You should make something out of it." She prompted.

" Thanks?" I deadpanned.

She raised an eyebrow. " Just that?"

I raked my fingers through my hair before easing myself off where I was leaning on. Rounding the island to where she sat, I pulled out a chair as well.

" Let's say I just love writing for the joy of writing. Nothing more, nothing less."

" But your pay at the cafe..."

" I'm okay with it."

" Erica..." She trailed off.

" Don't worry too much about me. I'm doing fine, okay?"

She nodded.

" I just want the best for you. Writing will fetch you more pay than your present job."

" I don't know about that..."

" You can work as a freelancer if you don't want to be a known author." She added.

" There's still a lot more to learn." I sighed.

" Giving excuses already?" She smiled at me.

I shrugged.

" Some things are never meant to be what we may want them to be." I said reflectively.

" Like?"

" Some things are better left the way they are."

" No." She countered firmly.

" Giving excuses won't help, Erica. It's about time you let go of them. You can do this."

" You have that much confidence in me?" I teased.

" C'mon Erica." She laughed. " I know you will make an amazing writer. You will do just great."

I grunted and rolled my eyes. " I appreciate the vote of confidence but I can't..."

She gave me a small quite, not quite happy.

" Just don't wait for too long."

She stood up and patted my shoulder. " I need a nap now. Wake me up for dinner."

" Will do." I called after her.

I watched her retreating figure until she shut her door.

The apartment was oddly silent and I immediately missed her presence the moment I was left alone. I popped some leftovers from Mia's breakfast into the microwave. I managed to eat a little before I pushed the plate away. I retreated to my room and took a shower.

After dressing up, I climbed into bed with a book in hopes of getting some reading done but after reading the same page repeatedly for almost thirty minutes, I gave up and flicked the TV on the wall on. I scrolled through the channels until I found a rerun of my favorite show.

Maybe Mia was right, I reasoned. Maybe what I really needed now is to write and write. After all, I find no sense of fulfilment in my job anymore. I seriously need more pay as well. I love working at the cafe, but it ignites nothing in me. It isn't the real deal for me.

But writing... To be on my own, to see a world that is new and alive with ideas and people doing things their own way with no limits to what they can attempt, to feel like I no longer exist in the present, but to another time, another place, where I can create whatever and whoever I want. That's the real deal for me.

For me writing is bliss. It's surreal.

And I never want to lose that feeling.

If I ever take up writing as a job and it turns out to be more than I can handle, I know that will be the end. I need no one to tell me.

I will never be able to live past the fact that I couldn't excel in that area. I will never be able to accept the fact that what I had grown up loving and had envisaged as a lifetime path is not the right path for me.

So, why not be content with just scribbling words?

Why not accept it as just a hobby?

Why take that risk?

Will I ever be able to handle the regrets?

Those questions kept on playing on repeat in my head.

But what's life without a little risk? I challenged myself.

" Writing is worth it." I mumbled. " It's worth making this change for."

And despite the knots clotting in my throat, I kept on reassuring myself...

I am not a scribbler or dabbler, but a proper writer.

Writing may be a hobby for me, but it can be developed. Every piece of writing I do is something I can learn from.

And just like Mia said, I will do just great. I believe so.

If writing is creation, then I'm my greatest inspiration.

Maybe I can finally take up my favourite hobby.

Maybe...