Why do I write? Is it for you? Perhaps, it may be deceivingly so. Indeed, all that I am doing is merely outwardly reminding myself of what I inwardly already know. But of course, in writing, incidentally, now you know what I know.
As long as I have known myself, I always take to writing. I never thought about it much as to why I do write. It is just something that I would naturally choose to do. I write way more than I speak and that is a fact. I write to the point that I make it a point that I speak with the hands. It may not make much sense to many since, it may seem easier to just speak out. Right? Well, for me, writing is my vehicle to get my points across in a much more salient and understandable way. My hands do most of the talking for me. When I speak, I mostly receive facial expressions as though I am from out of space. Most persons really do not understand me when I talk words out. They look confused. So, I spend less energy explaining stuff with my mouth and found great pleasure in just speaking with my hands. Not to mention the English language is quite a bore to speak, and very complexed to learn and understand with so many undertones. There is also very little expression through body language. I can go on and on to justify why I choose not to speak, but who am I really fooling here. There is one simple reason why I choose to write instead of speak. It is the one thing that I have found the least fear in doing. I am the fearless writer. I am not afraid to say what I ‘gotta’ say, just only that it is on paper, albeit taken either literally or figuratively. I view writing very much as a ‘freeing’ activity. I can freely express through my words. There is absolutely very little that I do hold back when it comes to my writing. What doesn’t quite make it through the mouth somehow magically finds its way on the paper. So, technically, piece of myself is visible to the eye and the rest of me is found on paper. How cool is that? I am hidden inside a book somewhere. It may take you a while to find me. Okay, I am just being silly. But it is true.
The Unbridled Hand
Yes, I said it! The hand that has too much freedom is not a very wise hand. I sit and think for a bit. As I reflect on my past actions, I come to realize that there was indeed, a point in my life when I experimented with much of my writings. I tested my emotions and feelings and would try to express them in my writings. I used imagination as my ink that I would dabble unto the paper to ignite certain emotions and feelings. And I played with a range of emotions. I wanted to make my imagination come to life with my words. I tested the use of words to see if what I felt could be elicited in another human being. I played with this for a while. In fact, this was my playground, especially when in isolation. I tested emotions a lot. I would imagine myself being that emotion, and then I would allow words to flow out, and then re-read to take note of all that was produced. I let myself go freely.
There were moments when I would get carried away with my words. It seemed as though my words were my arrows and I would plunge them with the bow of my hand to meet certain people. My uncontrolled emotions drove my communication. I felt a strong desire, a sudden urge or attractive pull to express that what was hidden inside of me. I wanted to be noticed. I wanted to be read. I wanted the attention that I know I would never receive because of my lack of affinity to express myself in the much spoken word. Yet still, I had that strong desire to connect. So, in great faith, my challenge always consisted of toning the intensity of my words. My exercise consisted of training my hand to write with judicious thought and disciplining the hand to filter out the extreme emotions that would flow out of me.
My writing is both a mystery to me as it may be for another person to understand my chosen form of communication. I usually feel this pull or urge to express the thoughts that I hear in mind. Those moments of unrepressed expressions reflexively brought on feelings of shame. For I feared very much another’s response. I had great fear of another’s perception of me after reading my words. I was afraid of life’s interaction. Sometimes, I eliminate myself from life’s picture, thinking that I am just the person behind the camera capturing a scene. Sometimes, I forget that I am also included inside of life’s frame. Sometimes, I forget that I exist.
Writing helps me to finish create and flesh out what most are not able to see, and usually what most never truly dare to explore. Yet, it is the hidden part of me that colours my world; that makes me feel so alive; that reminds me that I am indeed a living, breathing creature. I live in my mind, and there I find the rest of my life. This is why I cherish so much the imaginative mind. I cherish experiencing the things that I know for sure I would not experience in the material world. I cherish the engagement with thoughts and feelings. I feel ecstatic when my mind lights up with certain thoughts and ideas. I have come to realize that my hidden treasures were to be found in my mind. My mind was the golden nugget that I needed to connect with in order to truly live out my life.
The words expressed in writing are only small manifestations of the much bigger thoughts hidden away in the mind. For me, my mind is that magical place. So, I take moments to share what I get to experience from that heavenly place that I call home. I live in words. I swim around in them. I play with them. I learn them. Words have an effect on me. They move me. What you tell me may hold its effect for an entire lifetime. I rest in the power of the word.
So, what exactly happens when I write?
Well...
When I write I
Become re-invigorated
Hear this authoritative voice, much like the sound of a teacher sharing certain thoughts with me
Lose touch with my external surroundings
Sometimes become playful in thought
Become relaxed
Experience my release; release form the tensions of the external world
Become one with the pencil or pen, whichever I am holding on to
Become reflective
Feel amazing love pulse through me
Receive my peace
Receive a good word
Remember that I am indeed alive
It’s pretty ironic when I look back now, as I see that I have had numerous opportunities to practice writing. Moving through the academic sphere, I was able to explore and assume various writing styles and textures. I have to realize that I rather not be labelled an academic in the social sense, for it limits my world in what I choose to think about. I think that the word academia or academy or anything academic was created out of the skill for thought examination and expressions within the realm of understanding the surrounding world. But some thoughts remain hidden, escaping the naked eye entirely. Some thoughts are not even nearly explored or tested or experienced. It is much like the term ‘athletic’ or ‘athlete’. These terms borrow from the inherent skill of someone who may be quick, strong, agile, or whatever the nature one may assume. One may have these traits, yet never picked up a football or cricket or discuss. By their inherent nature, they are who they are and their expressions are manifested in the way they may carry themselves or a shewing of their disposition to the outer world. So, too, I see writing. Everyone writes. Some write more than others. For me, writing is my main vehicle of communication to the much louder outer world. That is it.
My favourite manner of writing is in the letter form. I love giving letters and I love receiving a word in the form of letters or short notes. Letter writing helps me to make messages more personalized and structured, while expressing what I really am not able to truly express with the words of my tongue. I enjoy putting thoughts down on paper and I gain much joy in sharing thoughts with another.
I value words way more that any material substance that I can receive. I value the thoughts and opinions of others. I consider their words. But I take great time to study the words in the letters that I may perhaps receive. I become imbibed in the words, once I meditate on them.
So, I have described for you some of the different aspects of my writing activities. Writing is my main form of release and from what I extract much of my pleasure in a world where I sometimes find it a bit too painful to bear. Writing has become my companion and best friend in times when I needed the extra push just to get by. I therefore see my words as a work of art, that needs constant revision and refining to help me see more clearly the real me.
As long as I have known myself, I always take to writing. I never thought about it much as to why I do write. It is just something that I would naturally choose to do. I write way more than I speak and that is a fact. I write to the point that I make it a point that I speak with the hands. It may not make much sense to many since, it may seem easier to just speak out. Right? Well, for me, writing is my vehicle to get my points across in a much more salient and understandable way. My hands do most of the talking for me. When I speak, I mostly receive facial expressions as though I am from out of space. Most persons really do not understand me when I talk words out. They look confused. So, I spend less energy explaining stuff with my mouth and found great pleasure in just speaking with my hands. Not to mention the English language is quite a bore to speak, and very complexed to learn and understand with so many undertones. There is also very little expression through body language. I can go on and on to justify why I choose not to speak, but who am I really fooling here. There is one simple reason why I choose to write instead of speak. It is the one thing that I have found the least fear in doing. I am the fearless writer. I am not afraid to say what I ‘gotta’ say, just only that it is on paper, albeit taken either literally or figuratively. I view writing very much as a ‘freeing’ activity. I can freely express through my words. There is absolutely very little that I do hold back when it comes to my writing. What doesn’t quite make it through the mouth somehow magically finds its way on the paper. So, technically, piece of myself is visible to the eye and the rest of me is found on paper. How cool is that? I am hidden inside a book somewhere. It may take you a while to find me. Okay, I am just being silly. But it is true.
The Unbridled Hand
Yes, I said it! The hand that has too much freedom is not a very wise hand. I sit and think for a bit. As I reflect on my past actions, I come to realize that there was indeed, a point in my life when I experimented with much of my writings. I tested my emotions and feelings and would try to express them in my writings. I used imagination as my ink that I would dabble unto the paper to ignite certain emotions and feelings. And I played with a range of emotions. I wanted to make my imagination come to life with my words. I tested the use of words to see if what I felt could be elicited in another human being. I played with this for a while. In fact, this was my playground, especially when in isolation. I tested emotions a lot. I would imagine myself being that emotion, and then I would allow words to flow out, and then re-read to take note of all that was produced. I let myself go freely.
There were moments when I would get carried away with my words. It seemed as though my words were my arrows and I would plunge them with the bow of my hand to meet certain people. My uncontrolled emotions drove my communication. I felt a strong desire, a sudden urge or attractive pull to express that what was hidden inside of me. I wanted to be noticed. I wanted to be read. I wanted the attention that I know I would never receive because of my lack of affinity to express myself in the much spoken word. Yet still, I had that strong desire to connect. So, in great faith, my challenge always consisted of toning the intensity of my words. My exercise consisted of training my hand to write with judicious thought and disciplining the hand to filter out the extreme emotions that would flow out of me.
My writing is both a mystery to me as it may be for another person to understand my chosen form of communication. I usually feel this pull or urge to express the thoughts that I hear in mind. Those moments of unrepressed expressions reflexively brought on feelings of shame. For I feared very much another’s response. I had great fear of another’s perception of me after reading my words. I was afraid of life’s interaction. Sometimes, I eliminate myself from life’s picture, thinking that I am just the person behind the camera capturing a scene. Sometimes, I forget that I am also included inside of life’s frame. Sometimes, I forget that I exist.
Writing helps me to finish create and flesh out what most are not able to see, and usually what most never truly dare to explore. Yet, it is the hidden part of me that colours my world; that makes me feel so alive; that reminds me that I am indeed a living, breathing creature. I live in my mind, and there I find the rest of my life. This is why I cherish so much the imaginative mind. I cherish experiencing the things that I know for sure I would not experience in the material world. I cherish the engagement with thoughts and feelings. I feel ecstatic when my mind lights up with certain thoughts and ideas. I have come to realize that my hidden treasures were to be found in my mind. My mind was the golden nugget that I needed to connect with in order to truly live out my life.
The words expressed in writing are only small manifestations of the much bigger thoughts hidden away in the mind. For me, my mind is that magical place. So, I take moments to share what I get to experience from that heavenly place that I call home. I live in words. I swim around in them. I play with them. I learn them. Words have an effect on me. They move me. What you tell me may hold its effect for an entire lifetime. I rest in the power of the word.
So, what exactly happens when I write?
Well...
When I write I
Become re-invigorated
Hear this authoritative voice, much like the sound of a teacher sharing certain thoughts with me
Lose touch with my external surroundings
Sometimes become playful in thought
Become relaxed
Experience my release; release form the tensions of the external world
Become one with the pencil or pen, whichever I am holding on to
Become reflective
Feel amazing love pulse through me
Receive my peace
Receive a good word
Remember that I am indeed alive
It’s pretty ironic when I look back now, as I see that I have had numerous opportunities to practice writing. Moving through the academic sphere, I was able to explore and assume various writing styles and textures. I have to realize that I rather not be labelled an academic in the social sense, for it limits my world in what I choose to think about. I think that the word academia or academy or anything academic was created out of the skill for thought examination and expressions within the realm of understanding the surrounding world. But some thoughts remain hidden, escaping the naked eye entirely. Some thoughts are not even nearly explored or tested or experienced. It is much like the term ‘athletic’ or ‘athlete’. These terms borrow from the inherent skill of someone who may be quick, strong, agile, or whatever the nature one may assume. One may have these traits, yet never picked up a football or cricket or discuss. By their inherent nature, they are who they are and their expressions are manifested in the way they may carry themselves or a shewing of their disposition to the outer world. So, too, I see writing. Everyone writes. Some write more than others. For me, writing is my main vehicle of communication to the much louder outer world. That is it.
My favourite manner of writing is in the letter form. I love giving letters and I love receiving a word in the form of letters or short notes. Letter writing helps me to make messages more personalized and structured, while expressing what I really am not able to truly express with the words of my tongue. I enjoy putting thoughts down on paper and I gain much joy in sharing thoughts with another.
I value words way more that any material substance that I can receive. I value the thoughts and opinions of others. I consider their words. But I take great time to study the words in the letters that I may perhaps receive. I become imbibed in the words, once I meditate on them.
So, I have described for you some of the different aspects of my writing activities. Writing is my main form of release and from what I extract much of my pleasure in a world where I sometimes find it a bit too painful to bear. Writing has become my companion and best friend in times when I needed the extra push just to get by. I therefore see my words as a work of art, that needs constant revision and refining to help me see more clearly the real me.
|