Why Write?

"Breathe. Don't think only those who sing need breathe, or those who talk. They breathe more obviously, but you still have to breathe..."

She could not. She forgot.

***

"Why write?" she obviously had no idea.

But her eyes were fixed on her computer screen, typing away furiously. Writing wasn't limited to pen and paper anymore...there were keyboards, palmtops, number pads...there were so many different ways she could write. Writing took the forms of so many unconventional modes.

She still chose to blog.

The keyboard was her friend. The weblog was her diary. Writing was her life.

She had no idea what to do other than blog. Asking her to speak to someone seemed like a surmountable task. Written words were the only means for her to convey how she thought. Yet, so often was it misinterpreted, used against her, causing her to close up so much more.

It actually made her so vulnerable. She was stripped naked by Words. Her inner feelings were exposed, completely bare. It was probably as terrible as her life could get- while trying to hide everything, she revealed much more about herself, her inner nature, the unchartered waters of her life...

Her heart sank. Words began to take her over again.

It amazed her how her life could be summed up with Words. How Words was about the most powerful form to express oneself. There had been so much said about the power of multimedia, and how writing or reading had been long considered as passe. Yet, the power of books have been ever-prevalent. You could see how many people still, although secretly, sink into the fantasy of books, and drown themselves in the sea of words. Writing was still important, because words meant so much.

The one good thing about writing was that there were no ratings. She could write as she liked. Hopefully not slandering lest she get sued. In any case, she could choose not to publish her blogpost, or book, or whatever form of writing she had.

Movies, however, had ratings- G, PG, PG-13, NC-16, M18, R21- in her country alone. Books had none. Of course they were classified into different sections like fiction and non-fiction, children and adults, and a whole variety of genres, but who cares. There was pratically no limit on what you could write about. And there definitely was no control on who would be reading it. Have you ever seen a librarian chase a child away from the romance section in the library, or confiscicating books with sexual content? Obviously not. Who knows, there might be a priest somewhere reading a book about atheism or darwinism or the big-bang theory. And he might actually have been convinced.

That's what she admired the most. The power of Words.

She stared into the screen again.

Her lines were incoherent. But she understood. Words meant something to her.

Words. He was her best friend.

Writing made her feel like she had conquered the Everest, and was taking in the scenery from there. It was so...carefree. In a world of her own, taking in every single sight around her. It released her from her oppression, her frustration, her unhappiness.

***

"I write therefore I am." It made more sense to her than Cognito Ergo Sum.

It was about the only thing which kept her breathing.

She breathed. She finally remembered how to breathe.

----------------

I think it sounds very much like ranting...but hey, it does make some sense(: (i think)

love,

Annaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa(: