Since the start of secondary school several years ago, essays (and writing) have somehow become part of my existence, creeping into almost every facet of my life as a student, be it in tests, assignments or scholarship applications.
Frankly, I would be lying if I were to say that I loved writing passionately. I may have loved it once though, sometime long ago, lost in the foggy depths of my muddled memory. Of late, my mind has attached such a strong association between “writing” and “schoolwork” that it hardly seems natural for me to write for leisurely purposes anymore. The tureens of homework I’ve received over the past four years of my life have numbed me of a large portion of my love for writing. If so, why do I write?
I suppose the biggest incentive for me to write would simply be to excel and achieve good grades. In hindsight, this may seem rather mercenary, but with all honesty, it is probably the main driving force for me to write anything at all. If not for this “carrot”, I highly doubt that I would be willing to set aside time and effort to complete an essay for any purpose at all. An example of this would be how my blog, meant as a medium for me to de-stress in a meaningful manner died a natural death within months. Pity.
However, when I do write, be it for an assignment or due to a sudden flush of inspiration, I seek to write as well as I can. I love the aesthetic beauty of writing, and the amateur writer in me greatly enjoys every little witticism or pun that springs to mind. The very thought of how a prospective reader might react to any one of these fills me with an inexplicable sort of glee. Pardon me for my egoism, but I derive great satisfaction from producing a piece of work that I believe is of sufficient quality for me to be proud of, and others to deem worthy of praise.
I’ve always believed that there must be a purpose in writing. Thus, I write to air my views, to say my two-cents worth. I cannot lay claim to advocating lofty political ideals and satirizing the idiocy of governments and political figures, but nonetheless, I see every piece of writing I come up with as something that can let a reader understand more about my views, and perhaps even empathize with me and adopt my ideals.
Having been born in a rather protected environment, and not having lived through any form of social strife that has affected me too directly or unpleasantly, I must say that the views that I put across in my writing will be nowhere near as impassioned or fervent as those of authors such as Orwell, but I must say that I write in earnest to express the feelings I have gathered in my sheltered Singaporean existence.
Lastly, I write to express my sentiments. My philosophy in writing is to write simply and truthfully, and every word I pen down serves to express my heartfelt emotions. I hardly see the point in embellishing my work with unpronounceable words and “pretentious” prose for the sole purpose of impressing examiners. I believe in writing from the heart.
Writing has brought me happiness and worthiness, delight and reverie.
I write for these.