By Nina Udomsak

Creativity is the means by which our minds can flaunt their brilliance and abilities.
I can trace my passion to create back to the third grade, when my teacher Ms. Blagdon designated a Writers’ Workshop every day for us to work on writing projects of our choice. I remember making menus, writing mystery short stories, and designing a new cover for a paperback book.
Ms. Blagdon also had creative class projects. She once took a picture book, titled “Up & Up” that consisted completely of illustration and no writing at all, and showed us one page each day on her overhead projector. We each wrote a story based on all of these pictures. It was the best part of the school day.
“You’re so creative, Nina!” were my favorite words from Ms. Blagdon. What began as simple compliments on my work gradually turned into encouragement, and from then on, I learned to embrace my creativity as a gift.
In eighth grade, I designed a magazine in English that included every detail and aspect that a real teen magazine contained, from the fragrance samples to the beauty product ads to the address and barcode in the bottom left corner of the cover.
In tenth grade, in Spanish class with a group of friends, I filmed, directed, and edited a video of a news broadcast. We did mock news reports and included commercials, background music, and streaming headlines along the screen.
In eleventh grade, I joined journalism and designed ten features pages, combining artistry, writing, teen culture, and technology to produce part of an award-winning school paper.
My enlightening days with Ms. Blagdon inspired me to construct original works that I still look back on with pride. I found gratification in praise from others, outstanding grades, and the overall satisfaction with marvelous products of meticulous efforts (and long, sleep-deprived nights).
Ms. Blagdon stopped teaching at my elementary school after only one year. I wrote to her that following summer; she returned my letter with a package of photocopied pages of a new pictures-only book, asking me to write another one of my “spectacular masterpieces” over the summer. I was flattered by the special treatment.
But I never touched the packet of illustrations. It sat on my desk the entire summer, before migrating to the unknown depths under my bed. I just did not have the motivation: I was not being asked to write a story by a deadline, nor encouraged by a final grade, nor threatened by any editors-in-chief.
Every single creative piece I have done has been a project for school, a gift for somebody I care about, or simply a favor for the benefit or pleasure of somebody else.
In the past I have tried to start a personal journal to write in every day, to film movies with friends just for the heck of it, and to craft artsy decorations for my room—and I never followed through with any of it.
I eventually realized that nearly everything that I have ever done in life that was worth a decent amount of effort has been through some external motivation, whether for my report card or somebody I wanted to please. I never once felt that I had the time to generate something for my own fulfillment. I hope to someday begin a project and actually complete it—for nothing but pure, personal pleasure.
Sometimes we just need to set aside our obligations and put ourselves first—not our grades, not our teachers or employers, not our chores or responsibilities, but our self-satisfaction.