Words

I was reading back through little journal entries and random stories I have written over the past couple of years, and I found this. It reminded me why I try to keep writing, even if it's brief updates on my blog or scattered prayers in a notebook. It reminded me of the power of words.

I love words. I love the way language can move, inspire, captivate, and express. The way a certain word can convey an idea that is entirely unique based on its context and connotations. Words are the windows to how we see the world. The words we hear escape the lips of our loved ones can shape the way we love, the way we learn, the way we live. It may sound cheesy or idealistic, but words have paved paths in all directions of my life. My love of words began early on. For as long as I can remember, I have been writing. Writing my prayers, writing my thoughts, writing my experiences or lack of experiences, and now writing a combination of everything, including the daydreams that consume my days and nights. My mother says that I inherited my love of words from my grandfather. When he passed away several years ago, she found numerous pieces of scratch paper scattered around his apartment. These bits of paper contained everything: inspirational quotes, my grandfather’s own insights, unusual words and their definitions, and questions. These questions contained extensive subject matter: life, death, joy, sorrow, peace, friendship, love, hate. My grandfather loved words. He was moved, inspired, and captivated by language. He expressed his wishes, his fears, and his passions through words. Near the end of his life, he began to forget his words. Looking back, it’s as though his fading words marked the onset of his fading life. Yet he kept the important words until the end: "Hello," "Goodbye," "I love you." I still keep an envelope with my grandfather’s handwriting. It reminds me that I inherited my grandfather’s love of words. And I am glad.