Writing for me is a way of life that started long ago, even before my memory could store it to be recalled. A poem on a torn page of a notebook as a kid, gushing patriotism when on the brink of a war, blooming romance in teenage being hidden in secret diaries and gushing love for the new child; everything perfectly preserved on some moldy papers, to be revisited in back alleys of memory someday.
This is one romance I can’t break up with.
Before I even learnt to write, my first love turned out to be as reading anything and everything. That first love shall never change as even when I write, reading what I wrote and other’s write is the pleasure that I look for.
Often writing my own mind on a piece of paper or a device and re-reading it is what I found to be therapeutic.
Be it a one liner or a page full of prose, a paragraph or a few hundred pages of a book….. I have always been writing. In the back of my notebook as a kid or in the notepad of my phone now… I have always found writing to come to me easier than speaking the same things out.
Sometimes to escape the boredom of a not so engaging lecture and often to flee in a world away from reality, writing has always been the most liberating experiences for me. Often times when I couldn’t reach out to a loved one verbally, then writing a note or a letter has come to my rescue.
An outburst of anger, a lava of emotions and a bubble of happiness can all be dealt with a few moments of break from reality and few scribbles on a piece of paper. Re-read it and let the rational mind take over it.
Sometimes a quick burst of rage or an acute attack of suicidal thoughts, loneliness in an empty room or claustrophobia in a jam-packed hall, a break from everything had been possible by simply typing my mind out… be it on paper or a simple text message sent to no one.
When finding someone to talk to, became more difficult with age and professionalism, child rearing and immigrating to a new country, alienating friends and busier schedules, the extrovert in me turned over to paper and pen to pour in my heart and mind, anguish and pain, pleasure and compassion. This is the way the introvert in me has merged in perfect synchronization with the extrovert me. I read to soak in and I write to pour out… a perfect way to feed my two personalities, the one that wants to be left on my own and the one who craves to jump in to talk and discuss for hours.
Yes, I would like to write few more pages right here, but sometimes words don’t need to be stretched out and also being an extrovert, I love to hear too!
So, WHY DO YOU WRITE?
You can comment here or write in your blog. Pour your heart out!
And don’t forget to use #WHYDOIWRITE and link it here, so that we all can read.