Now as I tap my fingers, it fetches me some interesting thoughts about the power of writing. I can imagine the act of making impressions on cave walls to tree breaches, to those regal looking feather tipped pen dunked in ink to mark the sheet of paper. i think about being traversed to an era of Remington-type writers going clickity click, followed by the era of computers and now the age of tablets, which incidentally has become the new age form of writing – a ‘gentle touch’ on the touch pad…
Personally I attribute writing to the letters my mother and father wrote to me while I attended a boarding school. The treat of hearing from them once a week, just to tear open the envelope and rove my eyes through the love, advise and concern they sent from miles away, and me responding to them with plenty of love and home sick-infected emotions. Thanks to them putting pen to paper I have a treasure trove and a trunk filled with beautiful memories. When I read those letters, they ferry to me to a different time that was, and even though we are the same, we are yet not the same. It sure is a record of times!
Writing for me is personalised. It is dialogue with others and with yourself. It is time away to be in the moment and just with the thought, memory, and reflection. It is soul searching. There are times when I am vying for answers to certain questions and all I want to do is write and it becomes like a walk in the fresh, green, beautiful surroundings of the meandering hills where I seem to be finding my own answers. There is calm, there is peace and there is a sense of wonder of the words that are flowing like magic – not just words, but stringing those words into thoughts. Thoughts I never I knew existed within me are now flowing from my being with no super imposed or borrowed thoughts, but just plain and simple. I am glad I have those thoughts.
Writing for me is personalised. It is dialogue with others and with yourself. It is time away to be in the moment and just with the thought, memory, and reflection. It is soul searching.
There is sense of tingling when I think of writing. Just the other day, when I was in a tizzy of thoughts and endless errands and yet going through the mundane, I realised I missed the simple art of being just happy and sharing happiness with myself and those around me. There I was rooted to what came like a flash to me – courage to share happiness! And it was a eureka moment! That’s what it took me to swish the errands with great rigour, for I knew not what I was to write but I was soaked in the eager anticipation of what was to come, like a thriller, or a mystery, or a trance that was to take over.
Writing to me is great determination and discipline, like someone interesting said. If you wait to write till you feel like writing, it ain’t never going to happen. You just sit and do it! No matter what, no matter who. Once you are on that train, you just have to reach the destination. And it teaches you to be easy on yourself and others because there is no judgement but a flow of what it is! Not what it should be or has to be, simply put! If you and I were to judge every word, the mix of words to generate that thought – we‘d never make it through the walk!
To me writing is an uninterrupted identity of who I am. No questions asked no answers given. Just in my humble opinion, it is your map of the world.
“If you would not be forgotten as soon as you are dead, either write something worth reading or do things worth writing” – Benjamin Franklin
