Why Do I Write?

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If there is one question that I get asked more than any other, it’s – “Why do you write?” Depending on how drunk/sober the person asking is, it tends to be asked with varying amounts of disdain and intrigue. I was asked the same question by a university tutor my first week on campus. This was what I wrote down.

Why do I write?

Because in a world of war and rich men who don’t pay taxes, it’s my duty to spread the longevity of my love as far as the wind will carry my words.

The longevity of my love. I’m sure you could find more than one person who has met, and truly known me, who would scoff at that phrase. “The longevity of her love” they would laugh, “she is as selfish as they come.” It is true that I have made many mistakes in my life and often…for all the wrong reasons. Though I would argue that I am not the person I once was and I still carry the battle scars I endured in my fight to be the person I am today. So, if you scoff at the idea of my love for the world then I would kindly ask that you not judge me on the person I once was. After all, I would never presume to do so to you. I can only say to those of you who have known me recently, that if you harbour hate in your heart for me then you could not possibly know or understand the honest truth of the situation that has led you to dislike me. Every action I have made in the past two years, I have done so from a place of love. That does not mean I always got it right – it simply means that I did my very best.

If I were to write  a poem that described me in utter clarity, it would be the following.

I love a love for the sum of a human heart beat.

So yes, I write the things I write out of love. It was Mahtma Ghandi who said; “Remember that all through history there have been tyrants and murderers, and for a time, they seem invincible. But  in the end, they always fall. Always.” And why, pray tell, do they fall? Love. Whether it be the love someone has for themselves, the love they have for friends and family, the love they have for strangers across the sea or the love they have for generations that have not been born yet – it is always love.

You can tell me that powerful men in elaborate offices, hiding behind dollar bills and government policies are who truly brought the Hitlers and the Stalins and the Osama Bin Ladens of the world to their knees. You can tell me it was hatred of terrorists or greed and the dollar sign that hung over the untapped wealth of the Middle East. But who rode out to meet those foes? Who rode out to put their lives on the line in order to protect the future from corruption, enslavement and genocide? Ordinary, everyday men and women. And why did they do that? Love. Love of their lives, of their family, of their countries. Even of the men, women and children across the seas who were falling victim to those same evils.

So, why do I write? Because I would be no good behind a gun. No good sitting in a politician’s office. No good trying to stich up the wounds of a stranger. No, my gift is in my pen. My gift is in the words that I speak. Despite your own opinions and the many differences that I am sure we have, the words I write (while passionate and opinionated) come from a place of love. I write for those whom I see being silenced. I do not doubt the pain or the suffering of the people seeking to silence those I write for/about. I just simply refuse to replace one persons silence with another’s. I refuse to replace the suffering of a woman with a man. I will not stand by as you attempt to make the world a better place by dividing cultures and religions. You may not see the division yet, you may not see that political correctness and even the phrase ‘ cultural appropriation’  are making the gap between us and them wider. But that’s why I write. I want to draw your attention to it. I want to show you that when you burn an Australian flag or stop a comedian from making a joke – you’re creating more problems than you solve. You’re creating division and not inclusion. And because I love so deeply, so fully…I can’t think of anything worse than more division.

Here’s the thing about me – I’m pro individuality. I’m pro people being exactly who they are. I love so much that I don’t care if you disagree. I don’t care if we have nothing in common. My only rule is – be kind. Like really, that’s it. I don’t care what you believe or who you vote for or what you think. Just don’t be a shit and you and me will be good. The moment you go out of your way to hurt someone or deliberately cause them pain, is the moment that we are no longer good.

See, I wish it was as simple as the left says that it is. I want to believe so badly that it’s black and white. Feminism. Socialism. Fuck Trump. Let all the refugees in.  Anti-military and 50/50 representation in the work place. I wish it was the simple. I used to think it was. Until bit by bit, I realised I was a hypocrite. I was pro everyone being exactly who they were unless they disagreed with me. I was pro free speech unless someone said something I didn’t want to hear. I was a hypocrite but now…now I am not.

So, why do I write? To communicate. To create conversation. Too often the real issues of the world are being argued and not discussed. Too often people drown out other ideas with the sound of their own screaming and achieve nothing but to give people a headache. I am not stupid enough to believe that when I post this blog people will stop being tortured. Or that rapists will change their ways. Or that even the left and the right will come together as one. What I am hoping, is that by creating a space for dialogue…some positive conversation will actually occur.

So, what am I doing? I am standing in the empty, desolate, one hundred mile long, no man’s land that has been created between the right and the left. I am smiling and I am beckoning you to come nearer. It’s really not so scary out here. It’s a little lonely but like I said, it’s empty so there is infinite room to grow. A blank slate of potential if you will.

As always, be kind my loves.


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