Why Did I Start to Write?

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplas

It’s a question I still find myself struggling to answer.

Maybe it’s because I hold a degree in English — though, truth be told, that piece of paper has been gathering dust for nearly two decades, and not once in all those years did I feel the urge to write.

So… why now?

I think it has something to do with age. With growth. With the quiet, inevitable maturity that sneaks up on you when life teaches you what staying silent feels like.

I’ve come to understand that not everything needs to be said aloud. Not everyone will understand what you mean, and sometimes, no matter how deeply you feel something, the words just don’t come out the way you need them to.

There are certain things — thoughts, memories, hurts — that demand privacy. Not because they’re shameful, but because they’re sacred. They’re mine. And even though they ache, I’ve learned they can’t always be spoken. Some truths come with baggage, boundaries, or burdens that make saying them out loud impossible.

Sometimes, the balance between talking and staying silent is very harmful. I cannot count how many times voicing out has resulted in heartaches but so has staying silent. So I wondered what to do? 
I…