Why I must write

February 20, 2010
5 AM

I have lost my voice. My writing voice. I have lost my words. I can't seem to find the right words to say what is in my heart and mind. I blame this on my editing work. I am so bent on working on the words of others, I have lost my own capacity to put my own words together and articulate my thoughts. Do I even have original thoughts anymore? And do they really matter?

I envy my colleagues who continue to write. When Neni told me that Friday is her writing day, I thought, what a luxury that would be to have a day set aside only to write. I told myself that I am so busy, I don't have the time for such a non-productive (meaning, non-earning) endeavor. But I am, of course, lying to myself. I simply don't have the discipline, the stick-to-it-iveness, that is needed to be a writer. I have found every excuse not to continue writing: Columnists are a dime a dozen. There's too much opinion out there, too much noise that I don't want to add to. No one is interested anymore. Besides, as a member of the government peace panel, I must keep my opinions to myself.

You know what? It's hogwash. I can think of many other reasons not to go back to writing, but I know I'm being a cop-out.

What am I really afraid of? I have to figure that out. I used to do most of my thinking on paper. By writing out my thoughts, I reached certain conclusions. When I wrote, I didn't really know where a paragraph , much less an entire piece, would take me. Writing was part of my thinking, my analytical process. Now that I have stopped writing, have I also stopped thinking deeply about things? I believe so. I have been merely skimming the surface of issues, content with quick fixes, smart-alecky allusions, re-cycled analyses, stolen insights and unbelievable rationalizations. In afraid I've been faking it for a while now, counting on the residual admiration of people I impressed in the past and who carry a nostalgia for my writing, to still be accepted as a 'journalist on leave'. Someday, I tell those who ask me why I no longer write, I will return to the printed page.

This is both a wish and an aspiration that seems to be more and more difficult to achieve, as I fall deeper into editing the work of others. But I must go back. I must re-gain my voice, find my words, re-claim my space -- or wilt on the vine. I must leave my comfort zone -- which has allowed me to earn more than if I merely wrote opinion -- and forge ahead out there, to my original comfort zone where I was unafraid to be poor and to spill my guts out.

Making ends is meet is important. So is peace-making. So far, I have been able to earn enough by keeping silent and pursuing peace. But I realize I don't have to keep silent to achieve peace. In fact, the path to peace is through dialogue, exposure, transparency, openness. Peace cannot be achieved by keeping mum on the important issues. True peace can be reached when these issues have been thoroughly discussed and consensus reached on the next steps. And that is what writing does -- bring up the issues, put some light to them and hopefully, achieve some clarity so that the right decisions are reached. Writing can be peacemaking.

Lord, let me be that instrument of your peace through my writing. Where there is darkness, let me bring light. Through my words, my thoughts, my actions. Or should that read, through Your words, Your thoughts, Your actions -- through me. Make me the instrument that I was before I began to fear poverty and hunger, to need the comfort of a regular paycheck, and to rationalize these needs as a reason to keep my silence when all hell has been breaking loose in my beloved country.

I must write again, or perish.