With every finished line, paragraph, essay, or manuscript, it becomes clearer to me that it is one thing to ponder a certain matter or issue and a completely different thing to express it in writing. The momentous birth of the written word marked an unprecedented event in the history of mankind. It facilitated, and even made paramount, the process of externalizing the contents of our minds and passing them over from one generation to the next, like in the great historical traditions of storytelling, but with a record.
Since its infancy, writing has almost always meant progress. With writing, our growing corpuses of knowledge acquire a sustainable lifespan of their own, accumulating the dust of time travel. Of course, this is not to mention the possibilities of civilization and, more recently, globalization.
The written word has, quite slowly and painstakingly, climbed the high ladders of my imagination. I write to shun forgetfulness and gallantly rebel against the fragility of human memory. Is it not humbling to consider the overwhelming merits and outcomes of this great legacy of ours? Yet, I still freeze, unable to respond, whenever I am faced with the question: “Why do you write?”
Over the years, this question has agonized even the greatest of writers. Albert Camus is often quoted as having said: “The purpose of a writer is to keep civilization from destroying itself.”
Joan Didion, in a 1976 essay, wallows that: “In many ways writing is the act of saying I, of imposing oneself upon other people, of saying listen to me, see it my way, change your mind. It’s an aggressive, even a hostile act.”
Orwell, in Why I Write, identifies aesthetic pleasure as a motive that stimulates one to write, declaring: “Above the level of a railway guide, no book is quite free from aesthetic considerations.”
Hemingway, according to The Paris Review, was nearly horrified at the prospect of verbalizing his thoughts and feelings on the profession he touched us all with.
The list goes on, and the variety of responses is beyond compelling.
As I write at this particular moment, my psychological state is peculiar. It consists of a sense of empowerment mixed with an authentic yearning to speak to the world. Being educated youth, we students have a responsibility to communicate and translate our thoughts, ideas, triumphs, and mishaps through writing. I remember how I began flirting with writing back in high school, and gradually discovered my affinity for it in university. I cannot deny that it can be an exhausting practice, both mentally and physically. At the same time, I must also admit that its returns are often priceless. In writing, you contribute something to all of humanity, and live on forever.
Omar Bitar is a fourth-year student at University College studying neuroscience, sociology, and biology.
