I wanted to write.

Sometimes, I imagined myself as a journalist, chasing stories and truth. Other times, my dreams shifted into something entirely different, a doctor, a researcher, someone whose work carried meaning in a tangible way.

But mostly, I just knew I wanted to create something that lived.

Something with soul.

As time went by, life happened the way it often does. High school turned into college. College turned into interviews, rejections, opportunities, and eventually, a career in digital marketing.

And somehow, I ended up here.

At first, it felt close enough to the dream.

Writing used to be fun. Researching felt exciting. Analyzing graphics, building ideas, shaping campaigns. It all felt magnificent in the beginning. There was something thrilling about turning thoughts into something visible.

But slowly, something changed.

It stopped being fun.

Or maybe it wasn't that it stopped being fun. Maybe it stopped feeling like mine. Because over time, the writing was no longer about expression. It became about objectives.

Virality.

Sales.

CTR.

Engagement.

Sales again.

More virality.

More conversions.

And yes, maybe that is the reality of being a digital marketer. But some days, it feels like that reality slowly eats something inside of me. Because what I want to write has never been just words.

I want to write things that scrape the depth of sadness people never say out loud. I want to write joy that feels alive, longing that feels human, thoughts that move through blood and heart.

I want words that stay.

But in this job, my writing is rarely about me.

It is about the audience.

The customer.

The user.

The numbers.

And sometimes I find myself wondering:

What happens if I stop?

If I stop creating, ideating, analyzing, optimizing, who do I become?

Who am I outside of deadlines and performance reports?

That question used to terrify me. Until I realized something.

Maybe the purpose of writing was never supposed to be only about me. Maybe what I truly wanted was not self-expression alone, but meaning.

To create something that reaches someone. To make something useful, something that helps, something that moves people to feel, act, or understand.

And maybe that's where idealism meets reality.

I used to see things in black and white.

Either it was authentic, or it was commercial.

Either it was art, or it was work.

But the older I get, the more I realize life doesn't work in binaries.

There are too many shades in between.

Not just red, yellow, and blue.

Sometimes it's turquoise.

Sometimes magenta.

Sometimes a color you don't even know how to name.

And maybe careers are like that too.

Maybe purpose does not always arrive in its purest form.

Sometimes it arrives disguised as a campaign brief.

Sometimes it hides behind KPI targets and brand objectives.

And maybe the way I survive this is by shifting my focus.

Instead of obsessing over what the brand wants, I try to look past it. I stop staring at the client brief and start asking a different question:

What does the audience need?

What are they trying to feel?

What are they afraid of?

What are they hoping to hear?

Because the brand may ask for awareness and sales.

But people are still people.

They still want to be seen, understood, and spoken to in a way that feels real.

And maybe that's where I can still find my voice. Not by writing for the brand. But by writing through the brand, for the people on the other side.

Maybe this is how we bring life back into the work that once drained us.

By remembering that even within systems, targets, and client demands, there are still human beings receiving what we create.

And maybe that is enough to keep the soul alive.

At least for now.