Why Am I Here?

If it’s not painfully obvious from the lack of posts on my profile, then perhaps the reading of this passage will set your mind straight.

My name is A.I. Castello.

I’ve been writing since I was 9 years old. To the best of my abilities, I can’t recall how my fire for writing was lit. A tale as old as time. I recall a moment when I was younger, 10 or 13, who can say, of me watching Sex and the City with my mom.

“It’s my favorite show! I can’t miss an episode,” her voice echoes in my memories.

Every time the renowned Carrie Bradshaw showed up on screen, typing away or narrating her thoughts, something would ignite in me. A passion. A want. A need even. The sound of the keyboard keys, as if everyone else was deaf, and they were my piano keys, and like Beethoven, only I could convert these keys into a melody, yet unheard of — only I could hear.

I guess that’s how it started. No, wait. Even sooner. I told you I started writing at 9, right? That’s the truth. I was in elementary school, and I had this best friend. I convinced her to write short stories with me. This was back when computers were a luxury. One I thought I could never afford. We would take our Ticonderoga #2 Pencils — ones I was gifted through the free backpack/school supplies program, and those her parents bought for her — and our wide ruled lined paper, and get to work. I remember some of my short stories got to be 3 pages long (back and front). When I stapled them together, I had the widest grin, ear to ear. Such satisfaction.

Alright, you have two different instances, and here’s how they connect.

I had:

a love for writing

a passion for typing

At one point in my life, I was gifted a laptop. Before that, sometimes I’d sneak a feel at my Aunt’s Mac keyboard she kept in her spare room or my other Aunt’s laptop. I didn’t, or well couldn’t, use them, but to just be able to hold them in my hands and tap the keys, oh the joy that brought me.

Ironically, I never taught myself to type properly. I “chicken type,” although I use my three fingers from my ring to my index all the time. Never just the index. What would you call that? In any case, my typing speed can go from 60 wpm to a low/mid 70. I’d say that’s pretty good for a chicken.

Wait, I got off track. Back to the gifted laptop. I received it from this very kind woman. She was perhaps in her 60s. Retired but wanted to give back to her community. I met her through a book club at our local community center where she tutored. I was very young and approached these two older women who looked so classy and smart. I asked what they were reading. That’s when they told me about their book club, and somehow the words, “Can I join?” came blurting out. They were impressed that someone so young wanted to read. To be honest with you, I never went.

See, I suffer from this painful, horrible, embarrassing thing called Social Anxiety. Bah, did you get shivers? I HATE it. My therapist told me not to call it that, not to label it, because putting labels on things will cause me to use them as an excuse, blah, blah, blah. She’s right, but also, what does she know?

Eventually, somehow, this lady volunteered to be MY tutor. Honestly, I should have worked up the courage to learn something or two from the lady, but I was so young and so — idk, brainwashed? Naive?— by my mother, my sole focus was trying to survive. This lady did a lot for me, for us really, my family. No one appreciated it enough to be real with you. I didn’t understand at the time how big of a gift she was giving us till I got older. Maybe I’ll touch on that and my traumatic childhood another time.

I did it again *facepalm* — back to the laptop. When she got me this laptop, dear reader, ah, I want to cry just thinking about it. The joy I felt. The peace. The calm. The happy. I really did unbox it and rub my fingers all over that keyboard. After that, once it was all set up, I pulled up a Word doc newspaper template and would spend many afternoons making up stories and using that template to feel like a published journalist. It was so gratifying.

Quick side note: I have this tendency of never finishing things I start. To this day, I’ll start a business, be so passionate about it, and if I’m not getting instant positive reactions, I begin to feel like an impostor, a fraud, like I failed, and I let it go. Which SUCKS because I know things take time and I know I just need to put in the work and see it through. We all start from somewhere, right?

Anyways, I wish I had published those newspaper articles. Printed them at the library or something and passed them out. I was always at the library anyway.

Hey, remember that Bratz episode where, I don’t know, is it Cloe or Yasmin — Jade? One of them writes the newspaper for their school. I’d say that also inspired me. Here’s the movie if you want to watch it: https://youtu.be/rmFJRJ1eItQ?si=dsDOcG8oauSD9Yre

I didn’t have that laptop long. Probably less than a month before my mom pawned it. I wouldn’t get a laptop again till I was 17 and got hit by a car. Yeahhh, I used my compensation money to buy it. It was a MacBook Air. I felt so bougie. Bless that laptop, it got me through so much. It recently broke, end of last year, 2024.

The first thing I did when I got that MacBook Air was change the sound of the keyboard to a typewriter. I highly recommend.

In conclusion, that’s how I got into writing.

TLDR:

Started writing at age 9

Wrote short stories and faux newspaper articles/advice columns

Inspired by Carrie Bradshaw, Bratz, and Mary Downing Hahn (my first chapter book)

Was gifted a laptop but my mom pawned it.

Bought a laptop with money I got from being hit by a car (learned HTML and began blogging on this laptop)

Changed the laptop keyboard sound to mimic a typewriter

Can type 60–70 wpm

Here’s to thinking out loud,