To write

Why do we write? For what? What’s the point of doing so? There is no definitive answer. For me, to write is to feel with letters an idea, a story, a story, a chronicle. Writing is like putting together a puzzle. To write is to speak in solitude with the blank sheet. To write is to weave fantastic worlds. To write is to show the complexity of human thought with words. Writing sensitizes the soul after capturing the feeling in the letters, one writes to tell what deserves to be told, this is dictated by intuition, invites us to sit down and type on the typewriter. Because literature is an art that transports us to other places, other cultures, other traditions. From here, on the desk the stories are invented, the great feats, the great tragedies, the hero’s journey are framed, the first time one falls in love, heartbreak, adventure, poems, songs, scripts. That is the beauty of words and their great power, they are the foundations, they build our thoughts and feelings, to ideas, to silence, to the inexplicable. Images are woven with words. Because writing saves us from the absurdity of our existence. I am afraid to imagine a future where art is ignored, where there is no reflection and dialogue for ideas. It’s sad to think that art doesn’t matter, a fatal mistake. Just like numbers, statistics, mathematics, science, medicine, engineering, yes, they are important, so is art; it is the mark that the human being leaves before the passage of time and remains in the collective memory, caresses our soul, breaks us, excites us, inspires us, elevates us to a hidden place, reminds us that we are alive. Because we imagine. Because we decided to count. Because dreams are framed. Because we are human, and the need to express and listen arises in us.



Original source in Spanish