Why I Write

When a child begins to stand and can be able to balance his feet, he is no longer a slave of his own way out of sitting all by himself in a desperate cradle. When a child starts to talk or even utters a single word or idea, he is no longer a slave of all cries for he cannot express his thoughts and feelings. Yet, when a child initiates realization and is able to understand things around him, he is no longer a slave of ignorance. He is, in fact, able to criticize and visualize things around him. He is able to comprehend the series of pains, wonder the unexplainable occurrences, and solve the puzzle and mysteries of life. Nevertheless, some mental activities that a child does remain oblivion for those scenarios can be forgotten. This idea, however, brings me into a solemn recognition that the things around him, that child himself, may not be remembered. Similarly, that child can be me or even can be anybody else. The child’s experience is just a matter of his adventure in to life, a series of wonders about what’s, how’s, and why’s. From the able to unable things, the child establishes his own character that he wants to know the world. That is why, he chooses to stand and balance his own feet, tries to utter even a single word, and initiates comprehension of the how, what, and why the world moves and spins on its own axis as his life starts to rotate. However, whatever he does, after he fulfills his own dreams, walks his chosen own road, and experiences the trenchant life, his adventures to the story of life vanish the same way as he appears to the world of dramas, fiction, and poetry. When he grows, he knows that the paradise as dreamt by some does not exist in the real world, he discerns what is right and wrong and chooses one out of it, and he decides his fate by his own choice. Now, it is a matter of living into the world and when the time comes, he will be blown by the wind, and yet disappears. Sounds pathetic, right?

This is why I say something about a child. From the child’s period, I can figure out the importance of how he grows, how he manages his own, and how he adventures his life. In addition, I want to record that thought, that life, and that significant him. Because of that, I can also start recording my own life, and this is why I write.

Moreover, I write because I need to share now my own story about the scenes of my dreams, the brilliance of my hopes, and the shadows of my suffering and pain. I do write because I want to paint the words of my thought, to give life of what is in my head, and to share my experience from the world of my own. In other words, I want other people know about my life and my own history. This is why I write.