I’m writing this from abroad. Yep, that’s right, be jealous: I’m currently kicking it in Guatemala. When you read these words, I’ll be back home in the 206. Try to find me and check out my tan — it’s pretty impressive. I’m having a great time here. The sun shines really brightly every day and we play soccer and get bronzed and eat ice cream and talk to natives and barter for trinkets. I’ve been living the good life.

But there’s one thing that’s missing. One aspect of my daily life that has been notoriously absent during my time away. It’s an addiction, but homie, it ain’t heroin: freestyle rapping.

I’m a relative newbie to the world of freestyle flow. Everything began last spring, at the end of sophomore year. Maybe there was something in the air on that legendary day, when me and some guys first decided to spit lyrics in fifth period.

Since then I’ve been hooked. I flow in the shower, I rhyme in the car on the way to school (but if someone I know is driving next to me I attempt to do so without visibly moving my lips), and I improvise lyrics in my head whenever I’m bored. Occasionally, I’ve been known to break out the rap battle in public. Be careful, those can get dangerous.

At the beginning, rapping was just something to do to pass the time. Fifth period always went by pretty slowly, and showcasing mad lyricism helped make the seconds tick and tock a little bit faster. Even at the beginning of this year, when every Tuesday we would demonstrate incredible swagger at Freestyle Rap Club, I never thought it was more than a hobby. But after a week of going cold turkey, I realize it has become much more than that. In my health textbook, it says that part of the definition of an addiction is that it must be harmful. Do I have a problem? Maybe. But at this point, I can’t stop won’t stop.

It’s kind of tough to pinpoint why I’m so drawn to freestyle rapping. I’m not particularly hard, no pun intended. Though I know and enjoy a respectable number of hip-hop songs, I wouldn’t call myself an aficionado. I don’t have any emotional baggage that I release from the tumult of my soul through my lyrics. I can’t breakdance. Once I tried to learn how to write in cool graffiti type letters, but my handwriting always has and always will suck.

Mostly I like it because it’s a really fun and useful skill, like knot-tying or being able to drink a lot. It’s portable, and applicable at any time there’s a lull in conversation (though I’ve heard from outsiders it can get pretty annoying. Oh well. Frick ‘em.) (My editors made me change it to frick. Maybe I am kind of hard.).

I like it because every time you spit lyrics, it’s like you’re giving a performance. Kind of intimidating, yes but it makes it kind of alluring. Maybe I’m an attention whore. I can deal with that I guess.

There’s also the aspect of self improvement. No one, sans Tony Wroten, likes doing something that they have perfected over and over. You don’t play Dolphin Olympics after you reach the diner. There’s a lot of pleasure to be garnered from working at something and improving at it. I bet you the first time Kobayashi ate a weiner, he ate one of them. Now that dude downs like sixty. The motivation is the same in freestyle rapping. At the beginning, I was like Dr. Seuss with a microphone and a somewhat smoothish voice. And I don’t plan on quitting until I, like Nas, can “keep static like wool fabric.”

But overall, the kicker is that freestyle rapping is a vehicle to friendship. I’m kind of an outgoing guy, sort of. But flowing has led me into ciphers with people I never would have been talking to otherwise. It’s pretty cool.

As the months have gone by, I’ve gotten pretty cocky about my abilities as a lyricist. I know I’m no professional, but I can take on the average Joe. So please. Stop me in the hall. Challenge me. If you’re scared, practice in front of a mirror or whatever until you got game. Do it today. I’ve got a craving and I can’t curb this addiction.