Why should you write?Posted: September 16, 2012
(One of those functional pieces of writing I come up with. Whenever people ask me why I write, I just share this)
Why should you write?
- Because basta, the paper’s waiting and you know without understanding that you have to write.
- Because teacher Jane was a horrible teacher who ignored you in Grade 6 because you didn’t come from a well off family and you weren’t as active as the class honor students, so you have to demonstrate your written eloquence by immortalizing the injustice she had done on you. Come to think of it, the whole school system did not give you notice because they thought good writing only came from students with good grades.
- Because when Martin had no idea what to write when he was chosen as the script writer for the required stage play in Filipino (what on earth were they thinking requiring Grade 6 students to stage plays) and the burden to come up with something mounted on you as director gave you the chance to see that coming up with plot twists and killing characters is infinitely better than just scribbling “I hate you teacher Jane” in your heart (it was a good thing they required Grade 6 students to stage plays!)
- Because damn the people loved your stage play and damn they loved your stories and damn you love the attention. And when you reached High school, damn you love the string of best scripts for stage play competitions.
- Because ma’am Nilda Tan your Filipino teacher said you could write, and ma’am Nilda Tan is one of the best teachers in the world.
- Because you aren’t just a passive appreciator of art. You loved the stuff you read or saw but you wanted to own them, so you took the parts you liked and added your own stuff in.
- Because you are no longer a baby who would cry when suffering. The boo-boo had to be pointed out some other way; while your classmates cut themselves to ease their pain, you found expression in stories of beheaded classmates and suicides.
- Because everybody is ugly and there is no God and those that ought to end up together drift away and end up banging some tramps from public schools, so all you can do to see beauty and meaning is to create a world of your own in letters.
- Because dammit you can’t freaking draw, you can’t play instruments, you can’t sing and you can’t dance. And the beauty inside you is bursting to come out.
- Because people around you are genuinely stupid and you need to knock some sense into them. You need to slap their pretentious politeness in the face with frankness and kick their mediocrity in the shins with some sarcasm.
- Because wit, sarcasm and intellectualism have an almost emancipating pleasure. Sure, Chicosci’s lyrics are cool, whatever, but nothing beats using your Catholic classmate to demonstrate how Intelligent Design isn’t exactly that intelligent.
- Because damn people still love what you write, and they even cry and tell you without knowing you’re the author that your short story they read was “a true story.”
- Because writing is magic, with which you make islands out of Apo’s peaks that peek out from a sea of clouds, stars out of the city lights and constellations out of the streets.
- Because you were not made to court an amorous looking-glass, were rudely stamp’d and want love’s majesty to strut before a wanton ambling nymph, so you experience love as creator instead. You could not love, so you create characters that could.
- Because your hometown has no identity, and conceited as you are you will endeavor to weave the fabric of the town’s soul.
- Because there are no demons in this world, only idiots, and the writer is the exorcist of stupidity.
- Because people forget and ignore even people, but they remember and notice when things are pointed out to them.
- Because Bacolod has Kansi, Muscovado, the Ruins, and the kindness of Dr. Coscolluela, and Dumaguete has sans rival, bodbod, dolphins, the writers’ baptism of sunrise, and life, and writing can get you there.
- Because writing can get you to different places and meet different people: a drinking mentor who will teach you Vodka, a girl who will show you infinite possibilities, maybe even friends.
- Because there is a pleasure in reducing the young heart’s cries of pain to mere t-e-a-r-s, heard by all mankind and thus silenced.
- Because it is orgasmic to make clouds cry, to lionize humble kittens and kittenize wannabe lions, to gouge out reality’s heart and carefully mount it, still pulsating, on paper, or to simply catch adjectives, verbs and nouns, stuff them into a sentence and watch them clash until a single, potent amalgamation of meaning emerges, all for the sadistic word-sex of it.
- Because at this point nothing else makes you more than what you would be otherwise, and because nothing really can make you more than what you are as you write. You with your delusions of grandeur are God on the paper.
- Because while politicians control the collective, doctors save lives, architects build homes and teachers train future politicians doctors and architects, you who write create them all. Because as you live writing you write life, and these “important” people are just characters in your story.
- Because yes, at this point writing becomes living, and living becomes writing. You, the God on the paper, have only the exaltation of authorship and the abjectness of silence to choose from.
- You really don’t have to, but you still cannot get shot of knowing that you ought to.
- Because you’ve been writing forever, all since Martin couldn’t come up with a story for the Grade 6 play. It would be being consistent. Continuity has a beauty of its own.
- Basta. You can write, and dammit, do you really need a better reason than that?