Would Write - Closet writing

In terms of writing, i have recently promoted myself. I was filling up a form for something and they asked me for my occupation - I've always had a problem with that 'blank'- because what i did at some organisation and paid me money and CPF was not entirely my occupation.

Occupation is defined as

1.

a. An activity that serves as one's regular source of livelihood; a vocation.

b. An activity engaged in especially as a means of passing time; an avocation.

2.

a. The act or process of holding or possessing a place.

b. The state of being held or possessed.

3.

a. Invasion, conquest, and control of a nation or territory by foreign armed forces.

b. The military government exercising control over an occupied nation or territory.

While being an HR exec is 1a. it doesn't fulfil my 1b. it also doesn't possess my being nor my heart and does not exercise, or i refuse to let it exercise, control over me.

Recently, as I was filling out a form that asked for my personal particulars, and in that "occupation" blank, i just filled in that I'm a "writer and HR exec", the latter of which is what i do for my day job. In other words, my occupation as defined by 1a is "HR exec"; my occupation as defined by 1b to 3b, literally or figuratively, is writing.

In this way, i have promoted myself because I never referred to myself as a writer before. And some time after i filled the form, which I did without much thought or decision making, i realised that I had presumptiously referred to myself as a writer - and through that, I became one.

It's a promotion from my previous title - I was a "closet writer".

Speaking of closet writers, there's the story "Would Write" about one.

"Would write" is a morbid tale, even by my standards. I can't remember what came over me, but I recalled one documentary (or maybe it was reading about it online) about a cleaning company in America which specialised in cleaning up after dead bodies and the mess they made. Apparently, the body entirely disintegrates, given the right humidity and temperature, even the bones and stuff. (And so, dead bodies would stain beds and carpets, which had to be properly cleaned before it could be chucked.)

The part on the blue skies - well, that's a sentiment i really felt when I was writing underneath a blue sky one day - about more than one year ago. It was a "life is beautiful" kind of experience.

Re-reading the story, I think I could have done better in distinguishing the voice of the narrator and the character.