Why I Write

When children begin to stand to balance their feet, they set themselves free from a desperate cradle. When they start to talk or even utter a single word, they now learn to express their feelings. Yet, when children initiate realization and can understand things around them, they conquer ignorance. They can, in fact, criticize and visualize things around them. They can comprehend the series of pains, wonder the unexplained occurrences, and solve the puzzle and mysteries of life. Despite all mental activities, children remain oblivion for those scenarios that can be forgotten.

This idea, however, brings me into a solemn recognition that the things around those children may not be remembered. They, perhaps, are somebody else. The experiences of children were just a matter of their adventure, a series of wonders about whats, hows, and whys. From the able to unable things, those children learn to establish their character to know the world. Hence, they choose to stand and balance their own feet, try to utter even a single word, and initiates understanding of the how, the what, and the why about the world moves and spins on its axis as their lives start to rotate.

However, whatever they do, after they fulfill their dreams, walk their chosen road, and experience the trenchant life, their adventures to the story of life vanish the same way as they exist in the world of dramas, fiction, and poetry. When they grow, they know that paradise, as dreamt by some, does not exist in the real world. They discern what is right and wrong and choose one out of it. As well, they decide on their fate by choice. Now, it is a matter of living in the world and when the time comes, they will be blown by the wind. And yet, they disappear. Sounds pathetic, right?

This is why I say something about children. From the childhood period, they can figure out the importance of how they grow, how they manage their own, and how they fulfill the adventures of their lives. I want to record those thoughts, those lives, and those significant others in them. Because of that, I can also start recording my own life, and this is why I write. Moreover, I write because I need to share my story about the scenes of my dreams, the brilliance of my hopes, and the shadows of my suffering and pain. I write because I want to paint the words of my thought, to give a life of what is in my head, and to share my experience from the world of my own. In other words, I want other people to know about my life and my history. This is why I write.

HOW MY NEIGHBORHOOD SHAPED MY BEING

Should I consider my neighborhood as an influential factor that shaped my being? At first, I answered such a question without realizing what it meant in its very deepest sense. I never had any idea what to assert based on my experiences or my judgment. I just grew up in a community where I crept on the ground several early mornings because the rebels and the soldiers fired and exchanged bullets and rocketed missiles into the sky. Honestly, I feared; I trembled. It was because I had to fight those fears of dying from the pouring bullets and bomb explosions that smoked into the air and from the booming sounds that deafened within the coil of my eardrums. Though I was unsure about my community if it molded and changed me, I have been fully convinced that my neighborhood has shaped the kind of person I am today.

The year was 1990 if I could still remember. My family and I planned to move places due to frequent chaos in our town. On early mornings, gun fires and shots banged. The sounds just roared and thundered in a distance while fighting planes in the sky plunged and rained explosives on the ground. For years when wars were on, my family and I struggled enough to find ways to escape from the terror. When I witnessed explosions nearby, for instance, I could not pretend as if nothing happened. I felt shocked and terrified. In effect, I became careful and patient. I learned to live quietly and know my grounds. I uncomplainingly waited for silence. However, I grew cautious about the people around me. As I watched my every move and worked amidst the danger in my community, I grew careful, patient, and hardworking.

Summing up, my neighborhood helped shape the kind of person I am today. The peril in my town kept me guarded. I had to be careful and safe. Indeed, I have been keen to endure pain to survive. The danger that I experienced served me as a reminder that I had to be strong to accept varied realities in life. Though I was uncertain about my community if it formed and shaped my belief, I have been entirely persuaded that my vicinity has fashioned my whole existence.

Photo source: https://www.centives.net/S/2012/why-dont-american-cities-burn/