Why Do I Write?

Introducing my raison d'être as a writer

As this is my very first Substack post, I want to write about why I write in the first place.

I have always had a sort of love-hate relationship with writing.

I Hate Writing

Hate, because it wasn’t my first love and I was kind of forced into it. I wanted to be an artist when I was a child, but my father, an artist himself, shot down my dream for fear that I wouldn’t be able to put a bowl of rice on my dinner table when I grew up.

And so I was “forced” to pick something else, and that Plan B was to be a journalist. A career as a reporter was supposed to fulfill my idealistic dream of making a difference to the world, while (hopefully) putting just enough rice on the table.

I did alright with journalism, but even within the trade, I compromised and turned to business writing, because it became more and more difficult to sustain the stressful work and to earn a bowl of rice if I were to continue pursuing my idealistic dream of fighting for freedom and democracy with my pen. Besides, early on in my career, it became clear to me that the political forces out there could easily crush my ambition. Writing for a living served its function, but it stopped fueling the passion that once lived in my young self.

Writing doesn’t come easy to me. My “native” languages are drawing and dancing. They are my embodied and intuitive ways of self expression. I associate learning how to write with my childhood struggles to learn two languages at once — Chinese and English — at the age of 5, as well as the humiliation I suffered when I was mocked for my subpar English skills by bullies at school. Ergo the “hate.”

I Love It, Too

Love, because the notebook and the pen kept knocking at my heart’s door, and I responded in kind by pouring my heart out as if I were talking to a confidant.

I don’t know if I would have survived the darkness and the pain over the 50-some years of my existence if I didn’t let my voice heard on my intimate pages.

Without being aware of the psychological and spiritual aspects of the practice, I started writing diaries in my adolescence. I was inspired by The Diary of Anne Frank, and found tremendous comfort in having an imaginary friend to talk to.

No, I didn’t feel I could trust my mother to tell her how bad she made me feel during those angst-filled years. And no matter how patiently my father would listen to me from time to time, my emotions flooded my inside. Those diary pages were the shore for these uncontrollable waves to crash.

That shore seems to be a place I return to over the course of my life, especially during days when I was shaken or stirred.

I Write, Because…

“…even when we feel powerless, we can always give voice to our pain and hope, to the slim, ongoing fact of our being alive.

We often underestimate the power of giving voice, but it is real and sustaining. It is the basis of all song. It is why prisoners break into song. It is why the blues are sung, even when no one is listening….

And it works its healing, not so much by being heard as by the fact that in giving voice to what lives within, even through the softest whisper, we allow the world of spirit to soften our pain…. In giving voice to what we feel, the darkest cry uttered with honesty can arrive as the holiest of songs.”

~Mark Nepo, The Book of Awakening

Writing is my path to healing. It is a long and arduous path in a mysterious forest where I risk danger and relish miracles at different times.

Often, the landscape of my mind is shrouded by a dense fog or a thick darkness, and writing helps me make sense of my experience.

I write entirely to find out what I’m thinking, what I’m looking at, what I see, and what it means. What I want and what I fear.

~Joan Didion

To add to that list, I also write to slow down the torrents of time and examine my life, to figure out what I feel, why I feel the way I do, and most importantly, what my soul really wants. This serves as a compass in the many moments I get lost in the forest while searching for wholeness.

I still work with writing (edit) for a living, but I also write for myself when I don’t have to think about that bowl of rice.

To Write, is to Live as an Artist

I’ve realized that being a writer is equivalent to being an artist — whose service to humanity is to “make life more bearable,” according to Kurt Vonnegut, and whose practice can “make your soul grow.”

The only difference between being a writer and an artist who paints, is that the tool is a pen (or keyboard) instead of a paint brush. In fact, as the critic Jean Hagstrum put it, writing and painting have been considered sister arts since the ancient Greeks. And so, I actually get to live my dream as an artist every time I write.

To share my writing is to let you in for a glimpse of my inner world. In doing so, perhaps the little whisper in your head feels heard. Perhaps the pain and discomfort in your soul will find a space to speak up and guide you to your own path toward healing. Perhaps the dimmed spark of joy will be rekindled and clear the sliver that blocks your connection to aliveness.

That, my friend, is what I hope my writing will do.

“I Write, Because I Am” — a poem by Louisa Wah ©2023

I Write, Because I Am

The paper is a safe space
on which my heart pours
its content, allowing
my mind to examine it,
my hands to hold it,
and my pen to witness it.

I write, because I am.

I write, so I can be present
with the whispers of my soul.
I write, so I can be at one with
my heart.
I write, so I can find my way
when I'm lost,
coming to shore after
being swept by the waves of life.
I write, so I can come home to myself.

Question for my reader

Do you write? If so, why do you write? Please share in the comment section.