My reflection paper for EN12 was entitled 'Why I Write'. The title obviously taken from George Orwell's essay of the same name (obvious to my EnLit classmates but probably not to others) we read in class. After rushing through my soul-searching and reflecting, I came up with the notion that the reason I write is to express myself. That is obvious to everyone now because of my occupation as an amateur blogger. But I needed to look even further in the past to get to the main reason why I write.
The answer, I found, was because of my childhood reading. I will avoid writing the vivid details of my imagination running wild as I buried myself in children's book of fantasy. You can read that in my paper. I will give you the gist, though. Reading pulled me out of the real world, and I experienced adventures I couldn't have normally. The beauty of reading is found in the way it affects the readers.
My love for reading prompted me to try to create something that could be read, not necessarily by me. Think of my writing as a way of paying back everything I had read. To create something with as much magic as my books. But unfortunately, I turned out not to be such a good writer. The influence of the books I had already read had affected how I wrote. Everything became sort of a copyright infringement. I was very young then, but I knew it wouldn't work out. So I gave up writing for a while.
When I got older and school got more interesting, I began to write about my classmates, putting them in weird, fantastical adventures. My passion (I really don't like using that word, it makes it sound fake) for writing was rekindled! I had also branched out and began drawing. Eventually, it came to the creation of the Weird Bunch and their Misadventures. I found it easier to write half-truths, stories that were based on real events or real people but given a magical (more often crazy or weird) twist.
So how did I get to writing as a form of expression? Writing always has been a form of expression, so you could say that that basically trumps all of my past reasons for writing. But behind the idea 'expressing myself,' you have to understand that I chose such reason to emphasize the fact that I can't express myself (or at least not nearly as good) otherwise, in other words, it's hard for me to express myself verbally. But again, what does this have to do with why I write this blog? Why do I need to express myself anyway, and to whom?
I came up with the answer just now. I'm expressing myself to no one other than myself! That's why I don't publicize my blog, it's not meant for others to read. Yes, one day I when I'm working and taking over the world (what?) I will be reading this but not only for the memories. Since this blog is the expression of my self, I will be introducing myself to my future self! Maybe, just maybe, when I'm older I can have a deeper understanding of all these random events, and see how they may have affected who I am--who I WILL BE in the future.
Blogs are useful because it is a place where you can just vent. Rant. Reflect. Reason out. You write down thoughts that you might not remember years from now. Of course, you can do that in other ways, too, but for someone like me, who loves to read and loves to write (it doesn't love me back, though) this is the best way I can think of: writing.
So the question is now why I wrote this particular post. Why write about why I write? I mentioned it in the first paragraph. I haven't written in a while, but not for lack of topics. I had one, huge event that shook my life like a ruthless earthquake, but I didn't write about it, rather I couldn't. I couldn't express what I wanted to express anymore, I couldn't write.
The event I am referring to would be the time I found out my best friend Harvey moved back to Korea. This won't be the post I pour everything out, don't worry. This is probably the first step, though. I think it is a testament of our friendship, or what he meant to me, that I wasn't able to write about it. I've experienced quite a few shocking events, but none stopped me from writing about it. Of course, I can't compare them to Harvey's leaving.
Ironically, when I most needed to vent, rant, reflect, reason out, express myself, I couldn't. We're talking about a friendship this time. It is an entire blog in itself. I couldn't list down every memory we had and lay it out, that would take forever. And back then (two months ago) even the lamest, corniest, or most boring memory was hard to face.
This will not be the post where I talk about how much Harvey's leaving affected his friends. That post will, for now, just be a white, unfilled box and its blinking insertion point.
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