I remember writing pages after pages of raw emotions and childish aspirations in my countless diaries. Then, I wrote entries after entries when I shifted to online journals. They were mostly about my family, what we did, what I felt in the confines of my house. I remember having a strong urge to write about my feelings, my daily thoughts and chores. I didn’t know why I had that need but I guess it was because I read books, magazines, and other materials. The habit of reading translated into another equally fascinating habit.
Perhaps, we read in order to understand and we write for the same reason. Or maybe when I was a kid, I wrote because I did not understand why things were turning out the way they were. There were times when I didn’t understand my family and I had to write to compensate for my inability to comprehend and inability to accept.
Now, my family is the simplest thing in the world. They do not require much but they give so much. I still write about them. There are differences between my writings when I was younger and my writings now but certain things remain the same. I still write because I want to understand more.


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