Why I write, Day 3

I’ve been writing for a while, not for someone else, not even to get published. As narcissistic as it sounds, I write for myself. I write in my diary faithfully and consistently.

I write in excruciating detail. I write how I feel as soon as I wake up. Maybe my nighttime habits and dreams have something to do with it. I write every mundane and fruitful things I’ve done.

I write the lessons I learned during the day. I write about my disturbing dreams.

I write until I get this feeling that I’m writing about someone else. I write until I reach an exhilarating feeling of depersonalization, the moment when you see yourself from the outside, in your purest form.

I want to see my life as someone else. I want to see myself as I really am. I want to evaluate my life without sentiment and learn as much as I can through the mistakes I made.

I want every page to stand as a symbol for every stage in my life. I want to unburden the horrible things I’ve been carrying and go through life bearing only the useful ones. Most times, I figure out which is which through writing.

I am always preoccupied by thoughts, ugly, incoherent, all-consuming thoughts. I saw a quote once, it said that “paper is more patient than people” . I couldn’t agree more.

I want to clear my head without causing trouble to others, without boring them with my 3 AM thoughts, without blabbering about myself just because I couldn’t make sense of what I’m thinking. I write because writing is a more polite way of ‘thinking out loud.’

I write not because I have answers. I write as I’m pondering on my own questions and hoping to find someone with the same questions as mine.

Or atleast I use to.

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Why I write, Day 2

Writers are a weird bunch. They love words. Sometimes they love men and women less. They start filling up pages with their own words, believing that their words matter. It has been a long time since I have asked myself the question “why do you write?.

I started developing my so-called writing skill and learning a structure that would help me understand myself more. I love telling stories, don’t get me wrong. But, in the process of learning how to write well, I have forgotten the reason why I want to write. Why is it so fulfilling to type/write out my thoughts? I feel a sense of completeness when I write. Right now I am enjoying the mere act of typing my thoughts.

Love has no reason, or so they say. But, my love for writing might have a reason. I knew it in the beginning but perhaps I have lost it. Perhaps, it is buried somewhere deep in the pages of instructions and structure that we have to follow.

The pleasure of writing is not in recognition; it is not in the appreciation. The best pieces of writing are the ones you don’t want to share with anyone because you don’t want to cloud your thoughts with someone else’s thoughts.

You want those thoughts for yourself. You only put them on the paper or on screen to make sense of your thoughts. The mind and brain can get bogged down with junk thoughts about people whom you try to forget, thoughts of memories that belong in the past, they cloud your sight and occupy much needed space in your mind.

I say mind because that’s where memories reside. Not heart, because heart only beats faster and slower at the thought of some memories and that’s why people think they experience the emotions of love, fear and hatred.

It all begins in the mind and ends in the heart and it becomes a physical pain or pleasure depending on whether you are in love or you have been hurt. They say wounds heal with time. Some wounds leave scars, some don’t.

You never stop loving a person. For a while it turns into hatred and anger but when the water has cooled down and you think about the bad blood you left behind, you decide that it takes more energy to hate than to love. You never stop loving someone; you just learn to live with it.

You realize at some point along the way that losing a loved one can make you love better. You learn how much love you have to give. In the absence of that one person to shower your love on, you can now share that warmth with many others.

Hopefully, your ex-love was so powerful that you can now accept that even if you love each other, you have to live separately for each other’s happiness and today I can write this without any qualms. Tomorrow, I might cry again.

I write to understand my reactions to different situations. I write to make sense of how others react to me. I write so that I can feel one with my thoughts. Many thoughts just slip away into the abyss of unknown and irretrievable things. What is life but a string of thoughts connected by the thread of time?

More than a muse

The thought of you always makes my insides turn upside down. Maybe it was specifically the way you smile that urged me to write about you endlessly. I can’t seem to explain it correctly, but deep inside my heart, I know there is something about you worth writing about.

I am usually the type to get writing inspirations off of boys I like, so intensely and here I am again, holding my phone and telling a story about you. Should I tell them about your eyes and how, even with just the slightest glint of them, everything inside me feels like bursting? Or about your voice – which with every note makes me want to hear more?

People have praised me for my “writing skills” , but I’m afraid if I begin to write about you, people will fall in love with you too. But I can’t stop. I feel like my body is aching to ink you into the sky over and over.

Whether it’s a poem or an essay, I crave the thought of you on these pages. I want to brag about you in all my writing. For all the things you have made me feel. For all the things that I am thrilled to feel over and over again.

Because of you, I am suddenly more excited to write. Every day when I write, I become more in love with what it. I am driven by an overwhelming passion to scribble my thoughts on these margins and as crazy as it all seems, it makes me feel accomplished at the end of the day.

If this is what writing truly feels like, then let me write forever.

You do not simplify my writing into just a pastime, because every minute is well spent when I think about you in the process. To some, it may seem absurd as to how I could write well by just hanging around with you. What do they know? They’re not the ones at the top of the world and head over heels for some boy in town.

So, allow me to think about you. To write about you. Because it makes me feel alive. Like I’m more human at the moment. Let me tell them about you, risking the fact that they, too, might fall for you.

Call me crazy, but the prodigious feeling surging through me as I write makes it even more special when it’s about you. Because at the end of the day, you make me love what I do.

You’ve become more than a muse to me.

Why I write, Day 1

I write to find my voice. The voice that doesn’t always speak the truth to people but find its authenticity on screen.

I write to try to understand the person that lives inside me, the person that confuses me sometimes and comforts me every now and then.

I write to share my stories. The stories that actually happened and the stories that I wish happened and stories that could happen.

I write to live my dreams through my words as if by reading them I can actually believe them.

I write to forget certain people, or maybe I write to remember them.

I write to connect with strangers, to make new friends and to know that I’m not alone.

I write to expose the vulnerability that I try to curb every day. I write to free myself.

I write to let people know how much I love them and how much they mean to me.

I write about my past to remember that I survived and that time heals all wounds.

I write about my future because I want to paint it the way I like it.

I write about my present because I’m still trying to figure out how to live it.

I write because I want to create happy endings and fairy tales and unrealistic fantasies.

I write about conversations I wish I could have.

I write about a love I haven’t found yet.

I write about things I’m searching for. I write so I can imagine myself finding those things.

I write because writing comes from the heart, I write because my mind can’t get involved in the process.

I write because writing allows me to be anyone I want, to erase certain memories, to relive certain memories or even start a new chapter.

I write because I’m much more comfortable with hiding behind my words than standing in front of a camera.

I write because I want my children and grandchildren to understand me and see how times can change.

I write because somehow I want to leave something for them to remember me, I want to leave something for the world to remember me by.

I write for those who feel things so deeply and who are moved by words that capture their emotions.

I write because one day I will look back and see how much I’ve grown.

I write because one day my writing will save me even if it kills me.

I write even when I don’t feel like writing; because the more I write, the more the world makes sense to me, the more I write, the more I find myself and the more I write, the more I believe that somehow I can still control how my story ends.

I still think about you

There are subtle feelings that I get whenever you suddenly pop into my mind. I try not to get involved with it, ignore it, and just leave it behind, thinking that maybe it’s just part of the nostalgia that one gets when recalling a certain memory.

Yet there are times when those feelings make me do foolish things that I might regret after; like trying to check you out on social media, taking a glimpse of your photos with friends, and just seeing how your life’s been going. I know deep inside that once I get to see your face again, all the feelings I bury in the pit of forgetting will instantly emerge. But I also do know that looking at you and your state now, those feelings are just reminders of how we were before and how we’re not going to be now.

Perhaps, I think of you out of nowhere because a detail, a song, or a scent reminds me of you. It’s all that, no ifs and no buts. Thinking of you at this moment is more of concern and curiosity; concern for your well-being and your condition, and curious of the matters that occupies you, stories currently happening to you, and so on. I guess that isn’t a bad thing after all.

It’s not a bad thing to still care for a person who isn’t just a “somebody” to you.
But keeping in mind that that’s just it and it will never go beyond that.

I think of you because I wonder how your progress is, how you cope in life, how you keep on going despite the issues and problems, how you can go a day and survive, and how you just keep it altogether; I think of you because there are questions I want to be answered without asking you in person; I think of you because you popper in my head and it left me puzzled; I think of you because a friend mentioned your name; I think of you because my brain just made me do so.

But then, I think of you not because I still hang on to those feelings that I had with you, no, let’s just be clear with that.

I think of you not because there’s something that we have to settle or what; we already got the closure we need, we’re done, we’re through.

And, Softie, I think of you not because I want you back but because I care for you as someone that I’ve known for so long, someone that I had a history with, and someone that I still consider as a friend that is not different for me anymore.

I don’t want to go back to that phase again, that you and me thing. I don’t want to go back there when I’m doing great now.

It’s enough for me to remain just like this, the one who watches your life in pictures, the one who catches news about you in someone else’s stories. I won’t ask for more, knowing that you’re doing fine and well.

I’m even over the fact that we just happened, and that the memories we had are one of the things I will carry and think of also one day.

Yet when all is said and done, I will never ever deny the truth that you will always and always cross my mind, no matter how hard I try to get away from it. I know you will because you played such big role in my life and your part has been too memorable to simply disregard.

It’s true, you can never just forget someone who gave you so much to remember.

In this moment

Sometimes it’s difficult for me to write. It’s not the same anymore. I’m overly critical of my words and how they sound next to one another. I feel like I’m trying too hard and saying things that have already been said a thousand different ways.

In this moment my head hurts because I want this to perfectly convey how I feel.

Sometimes there is no “right” or “wrong” way. You just have to say it. Believe in yourself that it’s the right thing because there’s nothing greater than being painfully honest.

In this moment it’s 11:39 AM and I can’t stop thinking about you.
Sometimes it’s hard to be apart from you. Most of the time, actually. I want to kiss you before start my chores and reconvene with you once I’m done over a home cooked meal and talk about how the day went. I want to get lost in your voice because hearing it brings me so much comfort. I want to get lost in your eyes and tell you how beautiful I think you are. I want everything with you.

In this moment I wish I was lying next to you.

Sometimes separation is difficult but it can teach powerful communication skills. Which I believe are the basis of every successful relationship.

In this moment I don’t understand what the universe has conspired.

Sometimes there is no point in trying to understand. But rather trust the path you are on and know that good things come to those who wait.

In this moment I feel impatient.

Sometimes it’s hard to take things day by day and know with everyday that passes, is a day closer to being with you.

In this moment time feels like my worst enemy.

Sometimes it’s difficult for me to express my emotions to their full extent because I fear rejection. I fear that my feelings won’t be reciprocated. I hold back and try and test the waters before jumping in.

But this isn’t one of those moments.

I can’t hold back the way I feel about you.