Why I Write

Writing was my first language. When I was in fourth grade, the teacher had each of us get journals and bring them to school. Mine was a spiral notebook with purple borders and a golden retriever puppy. The teacher gave a writing prompt each day, and I loved it. I just ate it up. And thus began years of my numbered journals, starting with that purple bordered puppy dog one as #1. I felt like I had to write something every day, or else I failed. I even kept random things like candy wrappers and pasted them in the pages, or my sisters work schedules. I still have no idea why I kept such things. Sounds like hoarding like behavior. No worries, I am no hoarder. Unless you could my Facebook albums of pictures as such. ;)

As the years went on, I kept journaling in these notebooks, numbering one after the other. Decorating each one differently. It's a little embarrassing to look back on. I think if i died, I'd want them all burned in a great big bonfire. We just don't need to look at the preteen mind of a boy crazed middle schooler. Scariness, that's all I've got to say. My friends and I even made code names for boys we liked. So embarrassing.

The journals of my youth.
Writing became the primary way I had to express myself. To this day, it is often hard for me to fully understand what I think or how I feel unless I write about it. Through writing, I get clarity and feel like I know where I stand more. Most of the time, like right now, I have no idea what I'll say. I just sit down and think through words. I remember things and take tangents, then I have to reel myself back in.

In another blog, I once read how this woman and her teenage daughter would write letters and slip them under the door. They did this because like me, her daughter could best express herself and figure out her world in this way. I think that is brilliant idea. With all this talk of writing, it's not to say I can't communicate and talk or that I don't. I do, and I think talking is obviously good and important. It's just sometimes with some things, I just need to write it out. Or after a long day or big event or witnessing something troubling, writing is my venue. My best language of discovery.

I don't write because I think I am a good writer. And I don't think I am either. I always think that if someone else read my words who was an English professor or a better writer in general, they would back me up on this and have more criticisms than not. But that's not why I do it, so it doesn't bother me. I do it for me. I do it because I need to. It's how I process. It is the best way I have of articulating my thoughts and feelings about something. I stopped writing for a long time. This blog is the closest thing I have to any regular writing right now. And this is not even the best format for me either, because I don't write freely as I would in a more private setting. But, it is something. So I'll take it.

Writing has always been my ally. Throughout my life, when chaos reigned all around me, when I was so full of emotion, anger, confusion and pain, I would write. And the words spilled out of my soul. Words of beauty and ugliness. Words of condemnation, encouragement and hope. Sometimes, I felt cut off without my journal. Like my source of air was restricted. I even began to bring my journal to school and other places with me to write. Looking back, this might have been a bit much actually. I remember one time in Sophomore year of high school, I was in class. I had my journal and was writing in it, and a boy named Kyle told me that I couldn't live in my journals. I had to deal with the life outside them. Well, that was my way of doing that. But I knew what he meant. And I knew that he was right. Those early high school years were a low point though. I was pretty depressed and dead. The years of abuse finally wore me down enough to just be this...existence. I began to very slowly defrost when I moved out of my house and into an old vintage house on C. Street in Tustin when I was 17. It was the summer after my Junior year of high school. Writing brings me more life. And I find that when I don't write as much, it can be a bad sign. It usually means that I am less connected.

So, that is why I write. To think, to process, to figure things out, to reflect, to grow, and to better connect with myself and with God. And for the purposes of this blog, to share.