There are times when I ask myself: “Why do I write?” What purpose do I want to serve by writing? I do not know any answer. Can I restrain myself from writing? Certainly I can not. There is something within me that compels me to write. There is an irresistible urge that propels me to express myself in words. It is something innate. It is certainly an innate compulsive urge to free myself from the burden of thoughts.
Thoughts enter my consciousness without any of my efforts. Thoughts haunt me. They enter me. They urge me to translate them into words. This is something spontaneous, something that happens without any of my involvement. I am a mere spectator. Thoughts enter my mind, find their expression, and appear as clusters of words when I write.
It is for this reason some thoughts appear so alien to me. It is I who give those thoughts a form in words. Did I think those thoughts? I am not certain. Perhaps I am a sort of a medium. Thoughts do not belong to me. Where do these thoughts come from? I do not know for certain. The fragments of sentences I compose with words are mine.
I am certain about one thing. I have got to write. Writing is an intrinsic part of my being. I can not keep away from writing.
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