#3 Thoughts : Of a pen, swords and bullets

At 12 years old, my English teacher told me that "the pen is mightier than the sword". Keeping this in mind, I started writing, penning and journaling down words that make sense (occasionally they don't) and stories I want to tell the world. At 12, I didn't know where my fondness of words will bring me - I only know that I can write, and I love to write. Probably winning that national award gave a boost to the writer's ego, and probably the love came from the recognition, I would never know already.

At 16 years old, I concocted a fancy statement. When people asked me, "What is your dream?" I told them, "My dream is to write and inspire the world." Yes, I was naive and full of prospects of what lies ahead. Having been accepted into the journalism programme I've always wanted to be part of and having been had articles published, that dream didn't seem too far away. I dislike dreaming of unattainable goals (aside from the brainless jokes I crack about marrying my idols), and I know they aren't too far away when I dream them.

At 18 years old, one of the interviewers at a scholarship interview asked me why did I choose to take that particular course and where I wanted to go, I told them I want to further my studies in journalism because I wanted to be a "war journalist," I said with utmost conviction, telling them reasons that I had such a strong faith in. That didn't happen, of course, because my mum found out about it and decided that even if her daughter got the offer, she wasn't going to let her do something so dangerous.

That was a turning point for me, realising that all the actions I do out there will always go back to my parents. I mean, I always know that it's crucial to maintain my parents' pride, and I find no trouble keeping them up. However, that was when I realise that I can never be too vocal about certain issues. I can never comment openly about controversies; I can never be part of any activist parades, because hey, if I get into any form of trouble with those in power, my parents suffer the brunt of it. Knowing how passionate I can be about causes I strive for, I steer clear of those I wanted to - only to keep thoughts and words to myself and the secret diary.

I begin to doubt my dreams and the conviction I had for so long. If the pen is mightier than the sword and if dreams come true and words are stronger than anything else in the world, what is happening to everything around us? I never liked going too far about every current issue happening around me; I always believe that only when I am aware enough of what is happening at home that I have the right to even care about what is happening around the world.

Two days ago, I guess things took a change for the different. As I look through the news and read so many articles about the happenings, I was stricken. I was saddened. I was hopeless. All I can do was read, learn, and be educated about what is happening, but is that going to make a difference to the ongoing sufferings, even as I am typing this story? I am able to rant and lament and voice out these ideals because of the luxury of peace granted to me. Albeit I never felt 100% safe being vocal about my thoughts, I at least have a roof over my head and a working (but slow) laptop for me to write, write and write.

What about them? What about the children who hide in closets praying their parents are not killed by the ransacks, the girls of my age forced into sexual slavery just because, the helpless widows trying to protect the scarce food supply for their kids, and the old who were unable to get onto the evacuating plane? What about those who never left, those who are unable to leave? Will sharing the news on my Instagram help them? Will reading up about history help them? Will having conversations with my friends help them? There will be split voices about this.

The world is sick. My country is sick. My homeland is filled with sad stories because while we have so many in the country fighting for the colourful dreams we envision, there will be those who snicker at the mere few hues of brightness we have and raise the power of greed to once again manipulate the stories and darkness for their selfish desires. Yet, there will also be those who change and evolve, growing brighter to see through the web of deceits because slowly and surely, we are getting stronger.

I'm not trying to remove my hopelessness, nor am I trying to remove your helplessness. This is, once again, a musing of all the internal and external conflicts, both literally and figuratively. While I still haven't figure out whether dreaming to "write and inspire the world" can actually be an attainable goal after all, I wish, oh I sure do wish, that towards the end of time, the pen will forever be mightier than the swords, bullets, and greed.

-x-