I rarely cry. Is that weird?
I know people who cry at everything from sad movies to diaper commercials (apparently, the babies are so cute they can’t emotionally handle it). Tears of devastation and rage are shed in the wake of global tragedies and tears of joy flow forth when reunited with loved ones. There are tears for everything–tears of frustration, of deep sadness, of the messiness of everyday life.
And then, there’s me. Continue reading
Four weeks ago, I was asked an important question: Why do you write? Unsure of how to respond, I gave it some thought and came to the conclusion that I write because I always have and cannot seem to stop.
I’ve learned a few things about myself in the past few weeks. I now realize that, at some point during college, I lost sight of my identity as a writer. It always seemed like my classmates were so much better than I was. Compared to their eloquent prose and poetry, my words felt feeble, hollow, and lifeless. But maybe that is because, all along, I wasn’t doing the right kind of writing. I took creative writing classes, but I’m not a creative writer. I’ve won essay contests, but I’m not an academic. That’s not me.
This place, this blog, these posts… this is me.
So much time has been spent comparing myself with other writers that I’ve forgotten who I am. Participating in Writing 101 has brought everything back. My identity, ultimately, does not stream from my classmates, friends, and fellow bloggers. It comes from myself. It comes from the fact that there are words bubbling from deep within me, waiting to be released. The words pester me. They nag, pulling at the back of my mind. I cannot keep silent.
At the beginning of Writing 101, I stated that I write because I cannot stop. At the end, I find my answer has changed.
I write because I cannot stop; I write because I refuse to stop; I write because this is who I am.