Why I Write…
Once upon a March, a tiny blue eyed child was welcomed into this strange land she today calls home. Outside was filled with palm trees, dirt and mountains surrounding, quite different from the interior white almost holiness of the small hospital. Five years later this little lass began the struggle and adventure which learning at school provides and her daily smile could not be suppressed. The following years were fun and filled with many afternoons of cookies, running, tag and teaching her younger neighbors as she played “teacher”.
Somewhere along the way she picked up numerous small notebooks and tried to use her imagination till she ran out of ideas but the plot line was always the same. Those stories never finished because the ideas were just dreams that seemed like light and fluffy clouds. The problem is on rainy days clouds pour themselves out and in the morning when the rainbow and sunshine through the clouds seem to disperse. That was the beginning.
The beginning to expressing herself, her ideas and stories. Then as she faced the stresses and excitement which high school offered she began to change. With that came daily journals documenting her incredibly packed and unexpected successes along the way. There were pages and even sections of frustration, pages slightly shriveled and words that blurred due to the tear stains. Yet she continued, persevered and dedicated a few minutes every day to it. At the end of each daily documentation she evaluated and summarized what she read in the Bible and found fitting verses. To read and see the faith she had was incredible and she would be the first one to feel that she had much room to grow. She never wavered from those writings, even if a period of time each day was written about on a notecard after writing through all the pages of several notebooks and this continued all the way until the summer she graduated. Then the writings became quick and fast until they were no more.
That summer was jammed with visits to family and friends and embracing the way things were all before going off to college. She even began to run and hang out with girls from her new school and her next chapter. The eagerness and excitement she felt outweighed the fear and nerves that may have been settling at the bottom of her stomach and the back of her head. And that was all.
No writing for three months. And when she began to write, she wrote at least ten pages. On the computer. It was just the beginning. Then she wrote and wrote and wrote, for months including as many details, stories, jokes and music as possible. It led from one thing to the next. Finally more than three years later, she started to blog. She felt freedom and excitement in this new opportunity for writing. She began to feel drive and motivation to write better and find more creativity in the truth she shared. She wrote of her travels, her pains, her joys, her suprises and her life. Writing became an outlet although when it goes back to the origin, it always has been. It has been her way to escape and embrace reality in a beautifully fateful way.
Destiny, fate, uncertainty, purpose and faith are words that have become more and more familiar to this still blue eyed young woman. Now affixed at a wonderful and challenging university she fights for knowledge every day as she studies the confusing but innovating field of engineering. She still writes and finds more joy and happiness in sharing her thoughts. The key ingredient that she embraces is partially or fully due to a particular event which changed her life during those three months without picking up a pen and paper.
I wish I could tell you more about what happened that day, that week that changed my life but I do not have any recollection of the incident and following. At the same time it has been the best blessing to not know. What I once struggled with, I now accept. What I once felt frustration by, I now understand. At least that’s what I liked to think. The reality that I woke up to a life of a traumatic brain injury unfortunately will never go away. To open my eyes to a world that seems familiar and yet is strikingly different was and is a different experience for anyone. To hear how my life was shaken, shattered and nearly torn in every direction was something that even a healthy person would have trouble accepting.
When I opened up the still brand new laptop which my parents had purchased for me for college and wrote, I had a lot to say. I wrote and have been writing sense. There have been small breaks and days with lack of words but writing has been the best therapy for me both mentally and emotionally. Now when I write I try to write about other things besides my life and the accident but sometimes it just pops back up. The thing is writing has been a constant, even if I never saw it that way. Writing and journaling has opened doors and opportunities but more importantly it has helped me find gratitude, joy and happiness along the way. Why I write? That answer seems simply divine for the young woman with blue eyes. As for my blue eyes, I’m still searching.