Why I write

I write because it allows me to pour my heart and soul into something people can understand. I used to draw to express myself, but as I got older, the drawings started to turn into eraser smudges and faint traces of graphite signifying the mistakes. Pretty soon it became less about expressing myself and more about getting it right. Pencil sketches of lush landscapes and abstract things turned into dark lines and smudges, squiggles and crosses, it wasn’t art anymore, it was a disaster.

As I got older, my emotions started to become more and more scrambled. I struggled to comprehend what made me feel like laughing and crying at the same time. I struggled to understand what made it feel like my heart was going to burst. I tried explaining what I was going through, but I was at a loss for words; it was like I just forgot them and couldn’t remember them no matter how hard I tried.

How do you know what to feel when everything feels the same? You don’t. The familiar feelings flow through you, but you can’t name the faces. That’s why it’s so hard for me to express myself in the form of abstract ideas and symbols, why I struggle with speaking my reality, because I don’t remember what it is. So I write because I can unjam my brain and express myself in a way that is flexible. Because the names come naturally when there’s no need for perfection.