(Over the years many people have asked me the same question over and over again. “Why do you write?” I decided to answer it now, on the eve of my 22nd birthday with a slightly doped brain and an absolutely lonely heart.)
I write because I want silence. And not the loud kind of silences which make you low. I just want a few moments of solitude. No disturbances, no noises. Just me and a scenery. I want to investigate, accumulate and contemplate the beauty of nature, of creation. I want to marvel at the simple mysteries of man and the world and not be bogged down by unnecessary worries about career, life, family and finance. I do not want to sit idle and give myself excuses to resort to alcohol or smoking or any other thing that I know kills me. For a few minutes everyday, I want to feel like I’m my own captain and that my ship is sailing in the right direction. I want to wake up thinking that it will be glorious day ahead instead of cringing at the thought of putting on my tie and feeling like a dog on a leash.
I write because I want to affect lives; affect in a good, non-destructive way. I want to touch hearts, to bring smiles, to create a sense of warmth and nostalgia inside others. I want to create something great, something concrete. My life’s works may be all but two lines, but I won’t mind as long as a million souls remember those few words for their beauty and simplicity. I want to stand up for what I want and not be another sheep in the flock. I want to revel in the torrent of flashbacks which run inside my head and feel happy; happy to have known so many wonderful, unique and even preposterous people.
I write because I have a lot of stories to tell, a lot of emotions to express. The stories may be good, may be bad or maybe plain old boring. But I write because I believe that I can tell stories.
I write simply because I want to. What about you?