i often ask myself, why do i write?
everytime i read a beautiful piece of writing that i find good, i would still somehow find that it's missing a little part that my heart is searching for. this yearning, desperate to be fulfilled yet no matter how good the piece was, it still wouldn't be enough.
******
from time to time, i started seeing the answer for myself.
maybe i write because i haven't found anything that i could personally feel. that i could connect with. that i could just sit there and be so occupied with the afterthoughts that come within the piece.
maybe i write what i want to read. i write what i want to feel. i write what i want to connect with. maybe i haven't found anything that could really be an expression of myself, which is why i decided to take matters into my own hands.
my own writings.
******
from time to time, i began to see the flaws in my plans.
i'd be lying if i tell you that there hasn't been a single doubt that i have about my own pieces. "what if people don't get it? what if they don't understand? what if they can't relate?"
if i could feel the way i felt with other people's pieces, what makes me think that they wouldn't feel the same way with mine?
my biggest concern, slowly turning into my biggest fear.
*******
from time to time, i began to realize: it doesn't matter.
it doesn't matter what people think of you, let alone your writings. it doesn't matter if they couldn't pinpoint any of your writings to be somewhat relatable to them, it's okay. because at the end of the day, you're writing for yourself.
i'm writing for myself. the main, sole reason why i started writing. i wanted to write for myself. i wanted to write what i want to read. it doesn't matter what other people think.
nevertheless, if there are people out there who can relate, who can connect with my pieces, i hope they know that i fully welcome them. i hope that my writings will let them know that they're not alone.
it's crazy to think that we're not the only ones with our own struggles. that there are people out there in situations very similar to ours.
crazy, yes, but a huge relief nonetheless.
*****
from time to time, i know now: what matters most is that we do the things we do only for ourselves.
so go on and write that poem, sing that song, dance that routine, finish that painting, speak that language you've been learning for months on end.
chase your dreams, all the little things that your heart desires. roam free.
set your soul free.
