CEBU, Philippines - Not quite. Writing creates another reality. It is a breeding ground of pain. It is a process wherein pieces of truth reveal themselves to the writer while doing his best not to look away. Those that had attempted writing seriously must have, at one point or another, that feeling wherein what they'd written appear to be something that could burn their eyes into ashes.
At first, it becomes a cycle of distortions, a labyrinth of defense mechanisms of the soul, because even one's own writing can go against himself. The writer's own musings can heal as they can also destroy. Only that it must destroy first - split him wide open to extract the truth about himself - because it's that truth that eventually heals him.
The process, however, can seem like the exact reverse of his very purpose of writing. It would appear that the writer writes a constant battle against the truth. He writes and writes in relentless pursuit for the truth. But, at the same time, he questions every piece of truth that crosses his path.
It's a tug of war of invisible conflicting forces. The writer stretches his eyes, until everything becomes clear - until he weakens himself by fighting against himself, until he is finally emptied of all pretensions and defenses, and reaches the bottom of it all. Drained, he ultimately submits himself to that inner voice that is crying out the truth about him, crying and dying to be heard.
It is only when the writer is drained of all resistance, of all concerns to meet social expectations, that he is finally stripped naked to be truly himself. The process does not end there, though; for, now, he has to deal with the truth he finds. He has to decide whether to go back to the comfort shell of his usual pretensions and self-deception - or to pursue further into the core of his being… and dare to face the truth about himself and find the courage to say, "I am."
The process of writing down one's thoughts into words takes the writer to a realm beyond the grasp of his own words. While words crystallize the writer's ideas, they also limit the meaning of his thoughts. That's the magic and the irony of writing.
The truth is, writing is not as much as what the words capture as what is left unsaid. The writer only attempts to reduce his own experience into words, but the experience itself remains beyond words. And that is always the mystery of it.
The writing process takes the writer to a world beyond words, a world that is ever uncontainable by words. But the writer may always attempt to put it in his words, by his thoughts, by his emotions. And it is not always to communicate - but simply to express himself.
By writing, the writer creates - or discovers - a new reality, it brings him closer and closer to the bigger truth. It may not give him the full grasp of the bigger truth; he may be too little to take all of it. But it is always an enriching experience, to have a glimpse of a truth much bigger than himself.
And so the writer keeps coming back to it; to a wordless dimension, where everything just is, no need to justify with words. Where writing is no more about words; where writing is no longer words. Writing becomes life. Writing becomes the ultimate reality. (FREEMAN)