A couple weeks ago, a professor and I talked about writing/ creative writing and about my writing, in particular. This teacher always encourages me to continue to write – if this is what I really want to do, and it is – because all the issues I have in expressing myself into another language, with time, will eventually fade away. That is, with the time, I will get better, and I will get rid of my “silly” grammatical errors. I think so too. I think one day – and I do not know how long it will take – I will be good at writing in English.
Since I was born, all I wanted to do was writing. Perhaps I was in elementary school when I started writing poems and enjoying the activity – it is an “act-ivity,” indeed – of reading.
When I was in fifth grade, I read The Diary of Anne Frank. People asked if I “had understood” the book. Yes, I said! It was a compelling topic not suitable for kids of my age. Yes, I repeated, I got it. Yes, it was a complex read, but I enjoyed it very much. Even now, I can see myself – so young at that time– reading that book, and I remember the image and the style of it. I remember the suffering of Anne and her family as if they are right in front of me, right now.
When I was in fifth grade, I read The Diary of Anne Frank. People asked if I “had understood” the book. Yes, I said! It was a compelling topic not suitable for kids of my age. Yes, I repeated, I got it. Yes, it was a complex read, but I enjoyed it very much. Even now, I can see myself – so young at that time– reading that book, and I remember the image and the style of it. I remember the suffering of Anne and her family as if they are right in front of me, right now.
Since then, I knew I wanted to be a writer. Since then, I knew that language was my lonely tool to express myself. Since then, I knew that language and I were going to be great friends, and that I was going to devote my life to language and written words.
Until… I became an immigrant, and I lost all of my lines because I did not know any English line. I lost myself, as I landed on American shores. I broke the pact I made with my language. But living without writing was not life, for me. Yes, writing has always been a matter of living or dying (for me)!
I can never be objective in the sense that I cannot separate myself from my writing. I make sacrifices for writing. One of the most painful sacrifices is the time I do not devote to my daughter because writing itself is time consuming and it sucks all of my energy.
I did not come to the U.S. seeking a job to make money; I do not care of it, at all. Richness is not my priority, but writing is the principal that rules my life.
My story of immigration is also the story of my writing.
3 comments:
I appreciate your thoughts and I do understand the sacrifices we all have to make when we have children. I am making them as well, but all you need to know is those sacrifices will benefit your children in the long run.
The way you dropped yourself into a culture and didn't know the language yet is such an inspiration. Keep going, keep writing. You're doing a fantastic job.
Did you see the news article the other day about them finally locating a picture fo the boy they think was her 'true love'?
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