Why do I write? --for The Holding Pond... (Also talks about "Why do I read?")
A Love Triangle?
Reading has always been my first love ever since I learned how to read when I was around five, six years old. At seven, I became obsessed with him. When school lessons were boring me to death, I would whip out a book from my bag and start reading. Back then, I didn't know much about novels yet, so I stuck with my textbooks, and from time to time, fairy tale books. Sure, reading was a good thing, but too much of something can be bad as well.
I remember there was that one time my mom got mad at me for reading a lot. Sounds weird, huh? I understand her though. I mean, what mother wouldn't reprimand her child when said daughter was so wrapped up in reading that she almost fell down the school stairs? 'Almost', because an older boy pulled me back to safety just in time. Funny, instead of being scared, I think I was even irritated that I was disrupted from what I was doing -- reading the final pages of my science textbook. Yeah, I know, ungrateful brat!
It was around January, a few months before I turned twelve, when I came across writing; writing poems to be exact. My older sister introduced us to each other. I wouldn't say it was love at first sight for I am quite loyal to 'reading'. However, I cannot deny the mixed feelings I had during our first encounter.
My sister had this last project in English which would determine her grade for the final quarter. Their class was assigned to write a poem either about themselves or something they love. When she finished, she asked my opinion about it. I told her it was great but in the back of my mind, I could hear myself complaining, "It would be better if it rhymed." (She got a good grade though! I didn't really know about 'free verse' back then, so I thought it wasn't great.)
Writing never became my true love, as reading still reigns supreme. But writing holds a special vicinity in my heart, maybe even more important than reading. Writing is like a part of my family, a friend, a confidant, an enemy, an obstacle and, as time gradually passed, writing became a part of me.
Writing knows me more than my family or friends, perhaps even more than I do. Together with his trusty companions, pen and paper, they open different worlds for me whenever I have them in my grasp. All four of us sink deeper and deeper into unknown dimensions where only our imaginations exist, where only our thoughts and feelings can be heard... expressed. Each time, through each journey, I find a piece of myself I've never known. Each time, with each stroke, I discover emotions inside me I have never noticed were there.
Why do I read?
I read because I am a dreamer. I dream of being inside that wonderfully covered book with words painted expertly by the amazing craftsman. Whenever I read, I fall under a spell. I hear not a single sound around me from reality. The only things I'm aware of are the sensations from that mystical sanctuary. Each page, each thought passing through my eyes weaves a powerful magic bringing me into a trance-like state. So, I will continue to read and I don't mind falling all over again. He is definitely worth it.
Why do I write?
I write because I am an addict, high on the things writing has shown and shared with me. Every day, I crave for the emotions and thoughts he brings. Every minute of every hour, I wish to do nothing more except sink deeper again into that warped world, an alternate reality existing only for the four of us, for me to get away from everything.
For the Holding Pond-- "Why do you write?"
I added my thoughts on "reading" as well.
Hopefully, it turned out okay...