WRITING AS AN ACT OF FREEDOM

Course:  The Teaching of Composition

Here is my first blog participation, so excited, since I am not a writer at all; I will just follow the flow of my ideas without a particular order of lexical and syntactical elements.

I will talk about how writing helps on the developing of ideas, also; how as we write we can make connection between logical and allogical ones.  Writing helps escaping from a planet of an absolute anarchistic system of silent, where the rules of staying in a mute sort of state are the only ones dictated.  An indomitably desire of escaping from that little planet, the planet of imagination, where dreaming was possible; but impossible to realize; imprisoned my spirit.  

When I was growing up back in El Salvador, I used to hear very frequently that “letters,” were for “the rich.”  Dreaming about reading and writing was beyond our possibilities. Hard philosophy to understand for a little girl, who used to spend hours of her daily life routine dreaming about writing stories, about fantastic adventures like the ones of the “Little Prince,” although those ones told in this book are not the kind for children, but are probably more appropriate for adults, anyway I would dream about climbing up to the tops of the Baobabs trees.  After all, I was allowed to dream, a poor little girl looking herself escalating the giant trees!  Ironically, I spent a great deal of time lying down up on the tree tops, where I freely let my imagination goes beyond endlessly and abstract ideas full of colors and untouchable images that vanished in vibrant motions, like shooting starts.  Sometimes, as a ghost showing up from nowhere, I would found ripped off and blurred pieces of paper with letters on it, as if the wind has dragged them from a far distant place, as if my dreams about writing had been heard by a fairy, or by a High Divinity.  To my amusement and curiosity, I was holding a piece of paper coming from an “unknown world,” from which I was far away and which only exists in my unacceptable dreams, because letters were just for those who inhabitated the forbidden paradise.  I couldn’t understand by then that my “hallucination,”  about transforming those colorful dreams into something touchable, something without the abstractedness and the impossibility that my reality placed upon, would in a distant future; become just as real as I am now typing up all sorts of silliness that probably no body would be interested in reading, but; as boring as it may be, those blurred, dirt, and ripped off pieces of paper, which in my mind were sent by fairies; triggered my natural way of learning, in a sense; there were no physical tools resembling books and  pencils.  Well, it happened that instead of real pencils and paper, I used bricks, pieces of woods, and twigs.  So boring, but think about it, ancient civilizations were writing before paper and the printing press was invented.  I hardly can believe now that in an innocent way I kept a few pieces of a book that I said I would be able to read it in the future, ironically that book was not even close to that of the “Little Prince,” it was the book of Mormon, yes, hard to believe.  It was only when I immigrated to the States that I found out what was the book about it.  Regardless of the type of text I read it, since that was one of my findings, the ones that the wind brought to me, anyway I am Christian.  Back then I was building up the fundamentals of my identity, since identity is shaped by the social environment.  From our teaching of composition course we have been learning about writing, and how we are able to build upon, or at least modify our identity when we get to be exposed to the system of writing.  I grew up as a rural girl with a natural mind, and a distinct imagination.  Then, another battle started between my natural identity, the one I believe has prevailed over all the possible ones, present or future identities that may appear, and that of civilization.  The forbidden paradise that people used to mention when I was a little girl was just right on my face, as a gigantic spider web hugging me so tightly, hence; leaving me zero possibilities for escaping.  Shen argues that humans face the need to reconcile their own identity to that of the dominant culture, our system values, which are part of our ideological identity; which in most instances; are trapped in that “gigantic spider web.”  Contrary, the logical identity is seen as the natural way one expresses thoughts in writing.  Then, should we be subjugated by the developing of a new identity?  Why?  I blame myself for not knowing how to write, indeed; I probably will never be a true writer for one simple reason, I haven’t developed yet an English identity, as the one suggested by Shen.  One’s identity can only be reshaped or modified, I have adapted to the English identity, which does not necessarily mean that I have built a third identity.  

Writing lets my imagination traveling beyond imaginary horizons and touch the untouchable abstract ideas, is the act that does not discriminate among social classes, that allows not only to my mind to escalate high pedestals, but also to keep me dreaming about becoming a better logical and illogical writer, and a more critical reader. Writing unlocks our ideas and nourishes one’s spirit!