I write because I must. Not because I enjoy it, which most certainly I don’t. I find the whole process tiresome, with the editing and re-editing. The constant searching for the best word to convey my meaning. It’s difficult to form words into sentences, sentences into paragraphs, paragraphs into art that flows easy, sounds pleasing, and speaks truths. I’m never satisfied with my final product. There’s always a mistake I made, and words that could’ve been rearranged. However, I cannot live without it. I’ve been writing off and on, ever since I first learned the alphabet. There are times when I’m so frustrated with the whole process; I insist I’ll never write again. But I always pick it back up. It’s in my blood, its part of my soul. And that’s just the way it goes.

Besides, if something’s worth doing, then it’s worth doing badly. And writing is most certainly worth doing. It captures the fleeting moment that would’ve never been remembered. When I’m old and frail, turning grey and full of calm, I want to re-read my life from my youth. I want remember the people I adored, the laughs that were shared, and mistakes made. I’m sure I’ll look over my writing of today, and feel embarrassed. I’ll be horrified at how naïve I was. How I was so irrational, so love-struck and all those other traits that come with teenage-hood. But I’ll read it and laugh, and be grateful that the memory can even be recalled. Just as I do today when I re-read the pieces I wrote years back.

Aside from preserving myself for the future, writing allows me to discover who I am in the present. I learn a lot about my dreams and emotions, when reading something that I wrote only five seconds beforehand. That’s because when I’m writing, I’m not thinking. I’m spilling my heart onto paper, allowing my words to be what they will. Whenever I try to direct my words and force them into something, it never comes out good. So what I write about is, more or less, a reflection of my subconscious mind. It’s through my stories, poems, and journal entries, that I’ve learned exactly what my priorities are. What my dreams are. It’s my expression of my soul.

And for a person like me, who lives and breathes emotion, any expression is good expression. Especially something like writing, that can take your desires and joys, sorrows and fears, and make them tangible. Make them real. And once they’re real, in printed ink, they can effect people. Writing has the ability change minds, allow eyes to see in colors never dreamt of. That’s a pretty powerful thing to do. Though I don’t typically share my writing, I have to confess: I write with the wish to move people. I hope to one day be good enough to touch others.

Another reason for my writing is escapism. I create my own fantasy, and paint the world however I want. Anything can exist within words. Such as Magic, Dragons, and True Love.

This is why writing is such a beautiful thing.