Why Do You Write?

For as long as I remember, I have always written. When I was old enough to get a diary courtesy of my working siblings and father, I had always written. Scribbled anything that caught my attention. We were always encouraged to write letters and postcards to friends and siblings. Compared to the others, I was always a regular letter-writer. When Kak Ti was in England to pursue a 2 year course back in the 70's, I was the regular writer sending news of home. I became Bapak's secretary to write letters to all his children. They were everywhere either studying or working. Until we got a phone. Still I continued writing to Sue who was then in Australia and Adik in USA to further their studies, and Hana who was then attached to Malaysian Embassy in Tokyo.

I also had a few pen-pals from all over Malaysia and overseas. Bapak would give extra pocket money for my stamps, aerogrammes, envelopes and writing pads. When I was in college and away from home for the first time in my life, I wrote a lot to friends and family. Letters were very important to me. They were my link to home and familiarity. To security and love. To a sense of belonging in a world that was new, lonely and unfriendly. They filled a void that only words could. They touched my soul and refreshed it. They gave me hope and encouragement.

Writing was to me .... my silent thoughts. My secret hopes and yearnings. My undisclosed longings. My unfulfilled desires. My love. My hatred. My likes. My dislikes. I used to write my pent up emotions and feelings in my diaries. I had a diary every year and I took them with me everywhere I went. They were my private thoughts. I remembered a diary where I wrote and documented my first pregnancy until I had a miscarriage. It was a painful, lonely and grieving period. After losing my father and old friend, I thought I was immune to such loss. Being alone in KL and recuperating on my own as Noor was in Alor Setar, made me a recluse. Until I finally picked up the pieces and went on with my life alone. Keeping myself busy with my work and activities.

When I moved to Alor Setar as my transfer was finally approved at the end of that year, I stopped writing my diaries. I burned all my diaries and had a funeral for them. My collection of short stories was also sacrificed. I did not want anybody to read about my life. Thus, I stopped writing formally until I discovered blogging.

Blogging was like a breath of life in my craving for letting out myself. Since I hardly talk about my problems, troubles, sadness, happiness .... anything .... I started blogging. Besides, my mother was afflicted with Alzheimer .... thus, I started writing again by recollecting my past memories. Before I forget them. Linking my past with my present. Appreciating what I  have now compare to what I had then.

I wrote about my parents, incidents, friends, events .... family. Since I love people-watching, I wrote about what I see, feel, like and anything that touches me. I have always enjoyed writing. It is like an outlet for me. Although I discover that as I age I am more diplomatic in my writing so that no one is offended. I write with my whole heart and soul .... as of everything I do in my life.

Why do I write? To chronicle whatever is happening at that moment of time. For my sons to read and know their mother. For an old friend to keep in touch with my life here. Yet, although my blog is not known to my family or Noor, I have more than 22,000 readers. One day ....