A beggar's request

Why write?

An empty page, white, lined, complete in its emptiness- it brims with promise of tomorrow. Pen and paper were conjoined twins from the start of their birth; they were always one and could never do without the other. Combined with the yearning soul, we begin to write.

Raining upon us all is our selfish desire. It burdens us. We read, when be begin to discover, we write when we begin to remember and we create when we begin to want. It is a compelling desire everybody faces. We wish to do something, we wish to feel accomplished, and in wishing so, we record. We record to leave a mark of ourselves behind. We write not because we want to, but because we cannot help but want. We cannot deny our souls the reflection of its endless craving.

Writing is something inexplicable to many; it is as essential as air and comes to them like walking comes to babies. To others insecurity and limiting beliefs prove too high an obstacle to scale. They believe that writing is saved purely for purposes of work, administration and communication. They forget- that is exactly what writing is.

Writing a short story, is a desire upon the part of the author to create a world beyond his or her own although they may believe they are helping others forget themselves and take on an escapade to forget and remember. It may be colored with fancy words or layered with expectations and a commercial, simplistic want to gain and to exploit, but stories are essentially information. No matter how seemingly difficult or frivolous it may seem, stories are an effort upon the author’s part to convey something, perhaps something autobiographical and personally endearing or simply a tiny insight into a more fulfilling, promising way of looking at life, or maybe even knowledge disguised as forbidden fruit.

Essentially, writing is an endeavor toward satisfaction. When a complaint letter is written and pressed within its pristine envelope, the author feels happy knowing someone is getting his/her just deserts. When an apology is written, they author feels hopeful for a better relationship or simply a better day tomorrow. When a post is blogged, the blogger is burning with the pride that the post would be read. It may be easily confessed, but why else would one want to share their writing if not for approval? Approval by others and oneself is probably the single most driving force of writing.

One may write in a diary in hope of documenting the past for fastidious editing in the future or peals of laughter to come, but in doing so, you’re seeking some form of approval from one’s future self and hoping that one’s future self would remember and learn again.

We write because of the weight of everything in the world. The flirting insecurities, the endless questions of why and how, the burden of expectation and the countless fears of failure, death and all things mortal or otherwise- writing allows us to carefully lay them out before ourselves in structured, coherent words. They bring to live the chaotic thoughts thrashing it out in our tiny insignificant heads. They breathe life into our hopes and fears. And yet, it is the self-same reason that makes writing the most trying endeavor on Earth. The soul of our words carries our vulnerability, and bare we are when we enter the battleground of display. When furiously met or disappointingly met, writers become mothers whose children have been bent and ground to dust. Their anger and frustration and utter disappointment is the most dangerous emotion that anyone could face, it could destroy.

And despite it all, we continue. We write. We are far too in love with life and beauty to give up our mimicry of it. We cannot find it in ourselves to give up the opportunity to soar because of our fear of falling. This is the indomitable human spirit, the ambitious little ants that thrive within us all that compels us to write.

Minyee