Writen in 2007, but desperately needed as a reminder now.

Why I Write

I.

I write because of words like cacophony and cornucopia, for evaporate and elaborate and illusion. I write because of trick words like knock, knit and knot, for trick letters like C and K, for count and call. I write for rules: for I before E except after C and Q is almost always followed by U. I write for there and their and they’re. I write because of words like grit and grind, for gut and glory—words I can feel in the back of my throat. For words that dance on my tongue like evolution, alliteration, and allegory. I write for the words that make my lips murmur, words that call for their joining, for summer and magic, monkey and mayhem. I write because the words on the page wind their way through my ears and mouth and fingers and demand to be let out.

II.

I write because my skirt once blew over my head on the streets of New York City, for pulling a Marilyn Monroe, with uglier underwear. I write because of four year old Lahu children calling me farang bababobo, crazy foreigner. For turning a Lacrosse field into a mud slip-in-slide, for fall trees that look like they’re on fire, for drunken roommates falling down the stairs. I write because of the way it feels to say goodbye, forever, to people who feel like family. I write because I held my dog in my arms as the vet gave him a shot and he died. I write because a man once held me down and silenced my words. I write because sometimes it’s the only way I can remember.

III.

I write because I’m afraid I’ll be alone forever. I write to make marks on my own world, marks I’ll see forever. I write the things I cannot say, the things I don’t want to hear out loud. I write because I’m afraid that if I don’t put my thoughts, my images, on paper they’ll evaporate as though they never existed. I write because someone has to connect with my words, even if that someone is only me ten years from now. I write because I fear that if I don’t I’ll poison my body. I write because I am afraid that one day all I’ll have left is a pen and paper and the ability to write.