Writing has always been my way of escaping from the chaos of this world. I find solace in soul-searching, and relating it to the world I live in.
Through writing, I have learnt how to capture human struggles, pains and uncertainties. Not only that, I have also come to understand that the fragments of every moments we go through are weaved together to form this thing called life; to cherish and nurture, each of us finding comfort in the strength of others.
The existential experience of man–good, bad or ugly–is being viewed through the lens of writing. An act that is profound to finding purpose and meaning. A piece that transcends from generation to generation, leaving a lasting footprint in our world than any carbon footprint.
It’s beautiful, it’s unique. Even when there are numerous words about life flying around–sometimes with similar experience, yet each distinct in its own. Each of us is gifted to speak to the world. While some find theirs in painting, experimenting, singing, advocating, and others, I found mine in writing; for the hopeless, the lost, the forgotten, and the ignored.
For a very long time I have thought that what I wanted to say was inconsequential. “Who would listen to me?” I told myself all the time. I mean, look at me! My mind was a vast of words muddled together, and I craved for so much clarity on how things were supposed to be. So I wrote, and ever since then I haven’t stopped–and I won’t, regardless of what the world has to say. Again, I careless!!!
Each of our experiences has shaped us into becoming who we are, and are going to be. So, why not put it into writing. The peace and fulfillment we get when things are at ease, and the restlessness we get when anarchy and doom approach. I’m compelled to write about them all–how to survive, how to cope, how to dance in the rain, and how to stay afloat.
I get frustrated, tired, isolated, depressed, rejected, confused and crazy at times; and I know that I’m not alone. But then, I put all of these feelings into writing, and I feel better. It does not necessarily takes the problem away, but at least I’m rest assured that the light in me is not totally out. And that’s hope, the same hope I’m giving to whoever cares enough to read this.
If there’s anything I enjoy doing again and again, it’s definitely writing. It makes me feel better, and put me at ease that I’m able to put my thoughts into words. I don’t really care if someone reads it or not. That has never been my motivation anyways.
My writings are not for the entire human race, I do not write for a large audience to get applauds, but I do for just one audience–YOU. You that is like me trying to figure out where she stands in this lonely world.
You will continue to hear the echoes of my writings, how it will reach the uttermost part of the earth even when I’m long gone.