Click Clack Click Clack

“Click, clack, click, clack”. The keys on my dad’s computer were always busy, whenever, wherever. Day or night, holiday or regular days, the keys always moved. “What are you doing Dad?” I asked my dad as he stared at the screen like an eagle looking for its prey. “I’m working Jayden, don’t interrupt me”. I always questioned what my dad was always writing about. The five year old me, curious about everything, began to listen to my dad’s keyboard work everyday. “Click, clack, click, clack”. The black buttons screamed for joy as they were being pressed.

English has always been my least favorite subject in school. Reading especially. Writing, on the other hand, was enjoyable. Obviously, from pre-kindergarten to first and second grade, I didn’t really write. Writing really came into my life after fourth grade. “Okay class, today’s assignment is writing a story about anything. You choose the characters, the setting, the ending. Everything”. I was delighted. My fingers shook, excited to type on my black macbook as I pressed my buttons slowly and surely. “Click, clack, click, clack”. With my eagle typing skills, I used my two pointer fingers to write my story of dragons and ninjas on the computer. I didn’t know how long it took before I filled up the entire page. I loved creative writing. It allowed me to be free. I can write about what I want, not some boring topic about a book or a person. I was the creator. The one who brought words to life, and gave words a meaning and purpose. 

I left Korea when I was in fourth grade and entered fifth grade in the United States. In the first couple of months, we started writing actual structural essays with all these rules. For the 12 year old me, it seemed like that ruined the fun out of writing. The soothing “click clack click clack” sound of my computer began to sound like a broken drum. Empty, with no emotion, no happiness. 

Middle school was when all this structured writing actually was drilled in my life. In sixth grade, every single year we would have two to three essays on a topic with a format we had to follow. Yes, I understood that it was to get ready for highschool,  but I still disliked the strict format. I remember every time I would get my paper back from my teacher, I was praying I did okay on my writing, and it made me nervous because I was not a good writer when it came to structured writing. I don't remember seventh grade in terms of writing. It was a dry season. It was very similar to sixth grade, but two times as many essays than sixth grade. My eighth grade teacher, Mrs.Thurston, gave us one essay every two weeks for our class. I remember I had one last essay before I entered highschool, and I chose the holocaust. I always had a really deep interest in the Holocaust, and always wanted to find out more about it. I remember researching every single night about what I should write, thinking of my three body paragraphs, the topic sentence, commentary, conclusion, and all the requirements for mla format. Again, just like in fourth grade, my fingers shook, excited to write about the history of the Holocaust. “Click, clack, click, clack”. I realized that structured writing gave me the same feeling creative writing gave the fourth grade Jayden.

Mrs.Thurston was by far, the most strict English teacher I’ve ever had. But now, I thanked her for that. I remember sitting in my house, absolutely screaming in my pillow, hating writing essays. But, she was the only teacher out of all of my elementary and middle teachers that really forced me to have to write well. She had the most influence on how I wrote and changed my view on structured writing and writing in general. I slowly began to find structured writing just as enjoyable as the creative writing I loved. 

I entered highschool with a determined mindset. Structural writing became a part of me, something that helped me become successful in school. The writing that I once hated, became the writing that I loved. “Class, make sure, MLA format.” “Times New Roman, 12pt, heading, with a citation.” It seemed like that this exact sentence was the most frequent thing I heard in highschool. Like a pendulum, back and forth, back and forth, infinitely. But something changed in me now. I loved the format. I loved the structure. I loved structured writing. I loved how I had a boundary now. Boundaries and formats were now a guide. A guide to success. I now loved every part of writing, creative or structured.

Now, I’m in my last year in highschool. Writing this essay now, thinking about the countless times I’ve hated writing structured essays, ripping billions of pages and getting mad at myself for not being able to write, I feel proud. I feel like I have improved significantly as a writer. Sitting in this leather chair, in my living room, with an energy drink and chips on the side, I feel satisfied with my writing journey in my life. From being enemies to now friends, writing has become a friend, someone who is always ready for me to tell my story or whatever, always ready for the keyboard to begin to click and clack as I write.