No words would describe the passion that burns in me when it comes to writing. I can create my own world, turn life into fantasy, and give my life a purpose; when I seem to give up in this crucial world called earth. I can enhance the profound words, and swim in the deepest thoughts where I can be myself. I can go in a place that is unknown, that men couldn’t reach unless they would go beyond the reality. I would cry in the most hurtful pain, express my fervent feelings…that my readers would understand the real me that always seemed to hide. I was born to write, blood is in me to be a writer. I guess the depth of the ocean wouldn’t be enough to define how my soul is hungry to be excellent in writing. I would always strive to be fit with that profession, “writer” not just by its name, yet well known for my masterpiece.
No one had taught me to swim, but I took a risk for me to learn. I had jumped into the deepest sea with nothingness, just a faith that was always telling me that I could make it. It was like loving without expecting in return, living without reason, and fighting without anything… This seed I called passion that grows into my soul is the reason of my existence, why I’m here and what I’m living for.
I grew with the belief that pains would give the colors in writing. Most of the time I wrote because of anguish, hurts, and laments. I knew in my heart that those things were the factors which give the real power in writing that gives the real beauty in the piece. But one day I just woke up from my deep slumber and figured out I was wrong. Suddenly the real meaning of passion was bestowed into my being which made me a different person. I don’t know the exact reason for this, but of one thing I’m sure, someone has helped me to understand what it means to be a real writer. He plainly compared writing to painting, making me understand that a writer must learn to draw the emotion from deep within his heart, and place it on the page... It was just a cliché,’ but struck my heart deep within.
As I browsed the life I had in my latter years, I realized that I’m brave enough… I’m continually standing, and coping with this life full of hurts. Writing had become my remedy to heal the deep scars and infinite pains that swallowed my subsidence as a human. I know that some would see me as hopeless; but if you would look deeper into the real me, not just looking the outside. You would see that I’m strong despite all the failed things in my life… I have solely lived my life with my heart full of hopes.
And if I would be trapped on a desert island, and lose everything, I would find a way to write, to obtain the greatest passion that I have, and find my way back home. As long as I breathe my stories will not stop, my imagination will continue its way to reach the end of the journey of excellence, to be a great writer
I have to thank God for having a chance to be born, to be aware in things, to fight for what is right, and to have the freedom to be a writer. I’m overwhelmed with so much love for writing.
Writing isn't just a passion for me, it gives me a thousand reasons to live my life through the most insurmountable barriers. Writing is the breath I take, the hope I live with, and the principle I stand for. I keep it in my heart full of tenderness, and I will remain a writer until all things pass away. It is like a sweet song that warms the heart, a fire that is continously ablaze as time passes by, and a flower that blooms in a meadow.
It is the desire of my heart to grow as a writer who doesn't stop with the ultimate knowledge, but continues the search to be great. I want to prove that a writer isn't just someone who knows how to play with the words, but knows how to use his heart. This is what I am. . . I believe the heart is the foundation of writing, it is the mother of all words, the voice that cries out from the depths of the soul and the ingredient to grow the most luscious food ever to be tasted by the mind. Yes, my heart is the reason I cannot stop myself from writing. If I ever came to the point where I lost my capability to write, or if the strength of my desire should wane, my heart would be the one who would speak the unwritten words that live in my soul. My heart would still manifest the hidden passion that lives in me. . .
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