Why do you write?

I used to write in arabic AGES ago, like when I was a teenager… but I grew up and I stopped, In uni. I had this fluffy feel for poets. I loved how eloquent they were so I read loads of poetry and watched even more poetry… and by that I mean mainly Slam poetry and spoken word. Many of my friends told me to start writing, just like, start a blog, 3adi like anyone else, but I never thought I had anything to write, then in August 2014, I went to Sudan for the first time, went to a poetry event by a group of talented Sudanese poets called “Nas with Notepads”. I decided I wanted to start writing about my trip to Sudan and other things I go through as an immigrant. Then I met this guy, who was a poet who encouraged me to write, so I did and yeah

Strong emotions. depends on what I am writing about. In the case of the blog I wrote, the strong emotions were sorrow, nostalgia, pain, disappointment and you might say a little bit of fear. and one of the reasons that I wrote it was because I felt that people were or are immersed a lot in what is going on in terms of how states are acting and they tend to forget what the people of the country are feeling. When the topic was brought up (isis) I didn’t hear anyone mentioning how WE felt and what it meant for us

Because My mind is a hurricane of ideas and worlds and stories, and its a mess. Things being thrown left and right. When I write one everything gets organized in rivers of thought, and I either empty what’s in my head or increase the space up there for more mess. It’s an addiction.

I’ve had a diary since grade 1. But like ever since I started blogging and working for a magazine i realized how much i enjoy it.

I just got a job tutoring english/writing at my college’s Writing Centre and have been doing lots of intensive training. One of our assignments was to write a literacy narrative answering your question hahaha ummm, it’s not really a simple answer but I’ll try be brief (and will quote from essay). Much to most people’s surprise, for the past 3 years I haven’t written much besides assignments for class… all happened after breaking up with a girlfriend, a published postmodern poet, and “like some martyr, I took up the cause of nihilism and self-denial of anything related to literature, knowledge and books. I dropped out of classes, did the bare minimum and mastered the skill of making it appear as if I was busy. I was lucky enough to do very well without doing much work. (…….) My relationship with writing is largely a product of this episode. I have cried. I have pretended. I have denied my love of words and writing. But today, I write freely.” So yeah stupid kid.. and basically now I’m trying to write at least a few times a week besides class things (maybe im even writing a journal), getting back into writing short stories and articles (im telling myself, yes I can)

I consider writing a form of self -exploration. I write to know myself and to understand what’s around me through words and memory rather than perception. It’s scary what the etymological meaning of reality can teach you about our nature and that of our surroundings lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about time and the ambiguity of the presence. Every time I attempt to write a new entry in my diary, the page is initially always blank. The only time information is stored is either in the past entry or the future culmination of the current entry, but in between there’s nothing. So this made me contemplate upon the concept of the present as a vacant space where the past and the future overlap.

Different people, from different regions with different reasons to write but with one thing that unites them: the overwhelming desire to take all the scattered pieces of themselves and align them together word after word and sentence after sentence until they see the beauty that is within them stretched out on lines of paper and lasting for all eternity.
We all have the potential to be writers but not all of us write. Perhaps you have not yet met the moment would lend you a reason to start, to that I tell you to go out, step out of your comfort zone. Be bold and be daring. Live a life worth writing about. Let it be filled with beauty and tragedy, after all this is what art is all about.
As to those who have found their reason, I ask you to hold on to it and cherish it. Not many are lucky enough to be able to break free from the chains made of words that were never articulated. Let your voice be heard, let your self be free. Don’t stop writing. And on those days when inspiration becomes like a shadow in a dark room, find that spark within you. That is all it takes.

“A non-writing writer is a monster courting insanity” – Franz Kafka. 

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