Words. Words. Words. My life is full of words. If someone could peek into my brain, they would see a constant outpouring of words and syllables and letters that make up who I am and what I think and how I convey myself to other people. Those who know me well can attest to the fact that I am happiest when I am scribbling away in one of the dozens of journals that I own. It’s not uncommon for them to see me hunched over a notebook, furiously writing away. Of course, I am not writing anything of importance really. No, I’m just getting the thoughts out of my head and onto something tangible – the paper.
Why do I write? You ask. Well, to be completely honest, I write because I feel I might implode if I don’t. The words and thoughts I accumulate in this brain of mine in a day’s time can get overwhelming. I process things delicately, yet quickly. If someone is talking to me, I tend to get distracted because my brain is focusing on how I can reply to them. On average, I can come up with three or four different ways to reply in a few short seconds. It sounds weird, doesn’t it? But that’s just how this mind of mine works.
Sometimes the thoughts are screaming at me, requiring me to write them in bold, capital letters at the tops of napkins. Other times they are quiet and gentle, sometimes inspiring song lyrics. Still other times they are barely coherent, and I barely even know when they say when I jot them down. But seeing those words transferred from the complexities of my thoughts in my head, to a piece of paper I can hold in my hand soothes me. It brings me comfort. It helps me make sense of everything. It helps me breathe.
I’ve said all this to answer a question: Why did you start this blog? Why do you write?
I write because I must.