I remember posting the following words in my Multiply site a few months back, “Here I will store my thoughts, emotions and experiences, more out of my own need than for others’ satisfaction”. That was really my intent when I started this blog, to build a storage place of noteworthy ideas and memories, so that whenever I feel the need to look back at some important stages of my life, I’ll be able to recall the moment as vividly as possible.
I must admit that somehow, I also dreamed (actually, I still do) that my blog will be known among blog readers, that it will be read avidly by people other than my friends. I also hoped that by chance, this will pave the way for me to pursue a professional writing career.
But restarting this blog, writing everyday as I have been doing for a week already, and receiving comments and feedback even from people who I don’t know, has led me to realize one very important thing: I write for others more than for myself. For even if I continue to feel flattered whenever someone says that I write well, I find myself a lot more fulfilled when people say that they can relate to what I write.
It brought me as much happiness as I’ve had in recent weeks when I found out that I was able to make a daughter, mourning the passing of her mother, laugh out loud at my first attempt at writing a humorous piece. I was touched when even a stranger commented on what I wrote about betrayals and moving on, much more when I was asked by a friend to write on that topic, as if trusting that what I come up with will help her bear the pain she is feeling at the moment. I was fulfilled when another reader sent me a message saying that what I wrote inspired her in dealing with her own problems. I was glad when I was able to make someone cry after reading one of my earlier entries, as I had proven to myself that I can still move my readers’ hearts, even though I am just starting writing again.
My writing has also allowed me to reconnect with old friends. My high school English teacher commended me for my honesty and said that she was lucky to have known me. One of my closest friends in high school also left a note on one of my posts, surprising but all the more appreciated.
This has brought me a new sense of purpose. As long as I can help someone heal, help someone learn, help someone grow in faith and resolve, help someone believe that his dreams are possible, I will continue to write. I may not have the storytelling skills of JK Rowling, or the power to inspire his readers like Paulo Coehlo. I may not be able to provide deep insights to everyday matters like Robert Fulghum can, but as long as I can help someone become a better person with what I write, I will be the most fulfilled writer in the world.
I may not have excellent command of the vocabulary, but powerful messages do not always need powerful words to be transmitted. From Socrates’ “I know that I know nothing” to Descartes’ “Cogito, ergo sum” (“I think, therefore, I am”) to Barack Obama’s “Yes, we can!” , history is rich with very simple words weaved together to form phrases that will forever be recounted by many others.
That is what I attempt to do as I write, for my very ordinary words to find their place in other people’s hearts. Even when the time comes that I cease to live, my writings will serve as proof that I have lived my life well.
I believe that everyone was gifted with a medium with which to express his thoughts and emotions in the best way. Some are able to speak eloquently, others can compose songs. Some are talented in visual arts, they can translate whatever they think and feel into drawings and paintings. I believe I have found my gift.
Writing has become both a privilege and a responsibility for me. A privilege to influence other people’s lives, at the same time a responsibility to remain true to what I write and continue to be the person I portray myself to be through my writings. I hope to bear these with dignity and integrity.
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