The wind beneath my wings,
The fuel igniting my dreams,
The fragrance that life brings,
Oh dear Writing, You make sense of my life’s extremes!
Writing is the ephemeral rainbow after the early morning drizzle; the garish sun of the sultry winter afternoon and the billowing breeze of the moonlit night. There is something satiating when words transform thoughts into eloquent paragraphs. Writing is like the thirst quenching oasis in the desert of solitude. For me it is the epiphany that I long awaited to make sense of a tedious life.
Traditionalism is not my cup of tea. Subtle ways of defying authority is what excites me. I can't bear being stereotyped as a woman whose sole objective in life is to be a wife or a mother. If anything, I abhor that classification. And that’s where writing steps into my life. Writing to me is being more than what the world expects me to be. Writing to me is revolting against the antagonizing pigeonholes that the society categorizes women into. Writing to me is the elixir of life in this mundane world.
There are certain things in life that give meaning to your whole existence. Life is too precious to be all about the set norms of society. For true worth to life, there needs to be a passion that drives you even through its darkest hours. Writing is that obsession of mine. It excites me and even makes me go weak in the knees, just like the quintessential first love or the first kiss would.
When something bothers me, I write. When somebody hurts me, I write. When I am angry, I write. Yes, it is the vent through which I flush all my off-putting and depressing feelings. It is the way I cope with everything that is unfair in my life. It is through writing that I can say things that normally I wouldn't be able to.
When reality bites and when the present gets too disturbing, the escape to oblivion is through the words in my mind. The topsy-turvy certainty of life warrants that I find a world of my own where stories and tales are of my own liking. Writing for me creates that world where beginnings and endings are as I desire them to be. Writing gives me the luxury to sketch a world devoid of the people who make my life harder and tougher. Writing gives me the authority to vanquish them from my horizon. I don the role of the puppeteer in the world I carefully sketch with my pen and it is wonderful indeed.
A passionate feminist at heart, writing also gives me an avenue to voice my opinion in this cacophonic world full of male sycophants. I write with the hope that someday all that we feel as women would be valued by the society that chooses to be blindfolded when it comes to our rights. Writing to me is thus a hope, a prayer and the silver lining that I need to hold sight of.
I love to write, for it brings me peace;
Making those shades of crimson all mine,
With strokes that at my will cease.
I love to write, for it’s my passion fine;
Giving life refreshing new lease;
With passion entwined; eternal and divine!
Writing is not merely the meeting of pen with paper or keying strokes on the laptop. The essence of writing is in the strength it gives me to face life. It might seem far-fetched and unreal but writing has amazing powers of healing too. Whether it is fighting the monsters within or the devils in the guise of relatives or society, writing gives the power to mow down all. I am never lonely when I write. In fact it is much more of a company than a pretentious friend would ever be. It is a steady shoulder to cry on, much more than a nauseating kin would ever be.
It gives me strength to fight.
It makes every wrong right.
It stands tall with might.
It widens the horizons of my sight.