This morning, I studied the notes that my colleague and I had put together. She requested, as a non-native speaker of English, that she do the more logistical tasks while I took over the description of the document. I had looked at her work earlier and besides small edits, I thought it was completely fine.
So in a few hours, I put together the descriptions, combing the notes, for keywords. Words flowed out my fingertips. Discover. Leverage. Allow. Build. Then at some point, the steam ran out and I got lunch.
After I returned and started working on another part of the document, my colleague returned and thanks me for writing so flawlessly. “What? Your writing was totally fine!” I exclaimed.
“No, but you told a story in the worlds. With simple words. Really, thanks for that. I am very impressed.”
I thanked her for the compliment and felt better about my work.
A few hours later, I received a rejection letter for program application. The disappointment filled my body. But when I was back on my bike heading to my 6 pm, the pain of the rejection faded away and I started dreaming about my writing. That perhaps, for once, my writing can be impactful. And that there’s still hope for publishing.