A few weeks ago, I was sitting in a car with a friend and his 9 year-old sister and she started asking me about the things I like to do. I told her I love to write and occasionally, paint. She gives me a wry but innocently sweet look of puzzlement and goes, “Everybody can write! I do that in school and its not that fun! Why do you like writing?”
I have been wanting to write about writing for a long time but I never thought about it again because whenever I felt like writing something else in my mind, the idea dived headfirst into publishing before I could remember I wanted to write about the true core of why I do the thing I do, that is writing.
Since man realized that they could communicate with one another, one could say that in a way, the seed for writing was planted. Later man would learn to etch and paint leaving stories for future generations to read.
The paintings left in caves many years ago may represent fact or fiction often a bit of both; what will remain in part a mystery is why they “wrote”. I wonder what compelled them to tell the stories, was it to remember? To communicate what they had done? Was it to plan an attack or teach their children how to hunt? I also wondered why their modern day counterparts write.
By expression, I meant the intention to express an emotion, idea, feeling, concept and thought. Writing is a great outlet for creative expression. I would wake up in the wee hours of the morning with story ideas derived from dreams that I just had to get out. My subconscious makes it impossible for me not to write about things. It keeps nagging me until I get them written down. That’s one of the first reason that leads me to start writing poetry in 2011 before I expanded myself to journalistic accounts till this day. Poetry is such a sweet release that I could no longer see myself without.
I’ve been living inside my head since I was a child. I am an only child, I don’t have a long attention span, and when I was bored I would entertain myself with my imagination. I play pretend and I spend time with reading books and making art—that’s before the Internet too, of course.
My mind would drift to some world from my imagination – rich with characters and conflict. In general, I love to exercise my imagination when I’m writing. These are worlds that are escapism from the grit of reality.
To Help Others
It all started with pen and poetry, me inkling down my thoughts and feelings. As innocent of an occurrence like a little girl with her pink heart-shaped- lock diary, I realise people find themselves in similar situations as me and found hope through my writing. I started to see what a big impact I could provide with such small letters.
I enjoy interlinking my own experiences with others to help others overcome the long journey of life, love and loss and advocate for themselves by sharing my stories and words to help them with the cards life deals. I may not always have comments or letters telling me how much my words could have helped somebody, but I feel appreciated even if someone wanders by and found something that resonates with them and felt just slightly less alone.
I am influenced by the magic of other authors and could not help but to be part of them. I’ve always been a fan of books. I grew up in a home where pretty much everyone encourages each other to read a lot. There were always tons of books around and as I got older, it seemed natural to start telling stories of my own. The reading prepped me for how stories work, what their guts look like, and how to make them memorable.
In a way, writing is also a tribute to all the authors and works that have fed my imagination — it’s a “giving back” to the creative world for all it’s given me.
I write because I love their books. I have so often felt alone and misunderstood and an author reaches in and grabs my hand through a book. She describes a feeling and then I’m relieved to know that I’m not the only one that has ever felt that way. I want to do that for someone. George Orwell wrote because he wanted to make the world a better place, and writing was his chosen way of trying to do so. That is my reason for writing, too.
Therapeutic and Healing
Our minds are designed to make sense of our experiences and when we undergo a traumatic event, our minds have to work overtime to process what happened to us. These thoughts may keep us awake at night, distracted at work, or we may feel less connected to our friends, family, or significant other. Writing about a difficult experience force us to translate our wounds into words, making it easier for our mind to grasp that experience.
“Writing is utter solitude, the descent into the cold abyss of oneself.” —Franz Kafka
All in all, writing to me is the same as eating, sleeping and breathing. It’s what keeps me alive. I write because there is so much joy in sharing my own unique voice and point of view. It’s my greatest desire to help inspire others. When I write anything – poems, articles, blog entries, short stories etc., I know am making a positive difference in this world and there’s a sense of fulfillment that comes with that.
I find there is a flow of thought inside my head that I can simply tap into. I have practiced enough to have learned ways to allow this flow from my head to the page. Those thoughts, given the channel of writing, tend to take me further than I would’ve gone had I left them in my head. In other words, I write because I believe that the process of giving physical form to a thought takes that thought to a new level, where it can be built upon and help improve myself, my loved ones, and society in general.