What it Means to Write Anonymous

“This has to be the worst summer ever,” I thought to myself. The only television in our apartment broke.

Unsettled by pure boredom, I started to flip through books on the shelf. I read voraciously that summer, and became inevitably fascinated with English literature. Specifically, I was captivated by words, and how a single word can only hold multiple definitions, but when weaved together by an insightful individual, they are granted an enchanting quality.

And I wondered if I could do the same. When I first started to write, I saw it as a way to express my emotions. But words became a medium to convey hitherto incomprehensible sentiments. Hypotheticals. Speculations. The more I wrote, the better I got at it, and I considered it as my greatest skill.

At English class I learned about great writers such as Rousseau and Wollstonecraft aiming to advocate for positive social change using their works. I was inspired. I thought about how being good at writing enabled me to find my voice, and wanted to create a platform where others could do so too. So, I created my own magazine on campus: White Noise. By helping writers of submitted articles edit their piece to more precisely present the writer’s unaltered sentiments, I promoted...