I remember the first time it happened. It was March this year. And, it was the day I turned 20. Every thing came crashing down on me, you know. The moment I opened my eyes that day, my mind drove on a flash back and it was as if I can see every moment I spent living one snapshot at a time. It was intoxicating in the sense that it felt both magical and melancholic. I asked myself, what is the point of aging if things proceed the way they do? What is the point of living if every day is empty? The day I turned 20 was the day I realised that I will be a writer and this is why and more.
I never knew that I was in a mission or, that life was a mission. Before I found the comfort of words, I was always searching for answers. However, I never knew what sort of answers I was looking for because, to begin with, I never actually phrased the questions properly. When adolescence kicked in, the questions just kept coming and my mind was a beehive. There was the constant buzz of whys and hows. Think about that combined with the struggle of puberty – yes, it was chaotic. Nevertheless, I never stopped my search and then, I found the first of the many answers and more – I chose a book and began reading.
I started reading and I could not stop. True. I did not want to stop. If I am to associate one word for reading then, it will be peace. There is serenity in every book, every page does not only contain words but, a passage to something more. Reading is a two-way process. There exists an interaction between the reader and the reading material. The connection is hidden yet powerful for it lies in the depths of the mind but affects the person as a whole. After five years of exploring the realm of reading, I was able to find some answers. Still, I knew then that it will not suffice for long.
Reading may have filled up a hole in my system but, I am still aware of its presence. The void was more than it seemed. I did not know why I had this feeling but, maybe it was because I settled. I settled for what I knew and that was the end of it. At that time, the only comfort was, I knew that I was not alone. Someone out there felt exactly the same way I did. There was a nagging emptiness waiting to be acknowledged. One must know himself in order to find the void. One must have wisdom to determine the root of the void. Otherwise, life continues as is – without growth and free of essence.
There was one thing reading cannot give me – an egress. I needed an outlet where I can open up, unrestricted. Hence, on my 20th birthday, I tried to write and chose WP to be my platform. I have already accepted that sports and music are just not components of my system. But for some unknown reason, I knew that I will feel devastated if writing turned out to be the same. The fear, I remember it and how it almost consumed me. When it comes to my abilities, I never really put myself out there. My academic performance is right on track because that I consider a responsibility however, writing is not just that. Writing is my more.
There are no limitations in my writing. The words exist and, much to my own surprise, they convey messages. My words have meanings and that, by far, is my greatest accomplishment. I write because it feels natural, like breathing. There are times when spoken words just do not feel enough. It is ironic how I find written words more realistic than spoken ones. When I write, there are no boundaries and to reach the edges of the world is feasible. When I write, all things are iridescent. When I write, even time is inconsequential because I exist in the past, present and future. When I write, I am not only me, I become someone else. I am more.
If reading is peace then, writing is liberty. It frees me from the shackles of the society – away from judgements, away from all that is only illusory. Writing gives me answers and at the same time, I can give the readers answers. With writing, I am more of the giver than the receiver. And this is the very reason why as much as I love to read, nothing will ever surpass the feelings I have for writing. The day I turned 20, I wrote the entry “Who am I?” because I had an epiphany. There was me and the world, finally connected. There was me and all the people, magically intertwined. There was me fused in everything. I was one with all other things.
I never thought that I could be this true. The sense of connection to the readers when I write, regardless of what the subject may be, is pure fulfillment that feeds my entire being. My writings may be my most precious possessions but who I am as a writer is someone I never thought I could be, a giver. With writing, not only did I find myself but most importantly, I found my purpose. Writing was the answer that I have constantly sought. Now that I have found it, I have no intentions of letting it go. As a writer, I glide in and to every universe for I am limitless. Writing gave me the reason to live and the reason to give. This is my more, my raison d’être.