Sometimes I get the odd question why do you write? Which usually triggers an awkward reaction of responding… I don’t know? Or I just got used to doing it… Which are not entirely true, but are not wrong either.
Writing is my natural way of expressing myself. I would like to think that my arguments are better rounded; I’m funnier and somehow more likely to be taken serious. Maybe because words don’t have gender, colour or an age group? But if I’m being truly honest, writing for me is a cathartic process.
Everybody needs a safe space, where they can work their thoughts and ideas. Being a sort of bookish kid… Okay, forget the sort, being a total bookish kid, I saw in literature and writing a way to imagine a universe that was much bigger than me. In which I could conquer all my fears and be safely adventurous.
When I started going on adventures of my own and started exploring the “real” world. I had my notebook to write notes, make small confessions, be secretly sad or incredibly nervous. I could be my best self, owning up the most vulnerable me and it would all be ok. Maybe it is the last trace of traditionalism left in me, but I feel that there is something very powerful in the written word. There is an aura of eternity that makes every single word meaningful.
Now writing for me is a bridge to several people around the world. We can meet and discuss life; we can connect and share our stories, paths and sorrows. It’s no longer static, but a force on its own that reaches out and it is reached by many. I’m truly thankful for having the opportunity of expressing myself, because I know, it was not always historically possible. A lot of women had to fight for our privilege of today. But I’m also glad to have a voice and to have found a way to express it.