Writing is like sewing, though in all fairness, I never showed any inclination to perform the latter. Sewing stitches together two pieces of fabric, solidifying their connection to one another. Individual stitches appear meaningless. But as more stitches are added the connection becomes stronger, the fabrics meshing as one. Writing is much the same. Each word seemingly meaningless, until paired with another word. As individual words form sentences, form paragraphs, form pages, the connection between language and experience solidifies. But just as one can remove stitches, words can be erased. Nothing is set in stone. This process is riddled with mistakes and “try agains”, allowing for growth and new beginnings. And while the perfectionist in me wishes for that perfect row of stitches and that perfect combination of words, I know the imperfections are what make the creations utterly human. That humanness of creation, that humanness of trial and error, that humanness of leaving behind your thumbprint on a project, expands life well beyond the boundaries of the mundane. It takes life to depths unknown, and it aids in life reaching heights well into the stratosphere. No longer does it feel as though our existence will end at death, for we will live on in our creations for generations to come.
So maybe this is why I chose this medium to express my thoughts. Maybe this is why I’ve found a comfort in sharing my deeply personal experiences in this manner. Perhaps someday somebody will stumble upon my incorrect grammar, my imperfect syntax, my typos, and my strung together phrases, and find something to hold onto. Maybe through these words they will glean the slightest bit of hope, nudging them towards the light in the darkest of moments. And maybe through these written pieces I attempt to craft, our souls will unite, and no longer will we feel so alone in this arduous fight.