It is somewhere after 10 in the night, I am exhausted from a work event, I can barely feel my legs. I order for an uber and according to the map, it will take us about 35 minutes to get home.
Usually, I sit at the back and quietly wait to get to my destination. Not this day, not with this driver. He was a talker.
“How are you? How was your day?”
I was just thinking, why does he even care? And then, I am inclined to respond because next to him is a book I had on my shelf and I was waiting for the right time to read.
I respond to his questions and then, we start talking about books...by the time I got home, I realized the power of words, the power of stories and the power of sharing them.
The moment I asked him about this particular book, why he was reading it and what he was learning from it, he went on with one story after another.
By the time I got to my doorstep, I not only knew about the book but part of his life, why he had chosen to have a corporate job by day and uber by night, how he started reading and his encounters with different clients.
It seemed like too much information for a 35 minutes drive but he was not going to see me again - I was only a stranger seated in the back seat of his car, not sure I even had a clear view of his facial features.
What were the chances we would meet again? And even so, recognise each other?
It was this drive that made me realize the power of conversation.
And what if I told you that conversation is healing, it is grounding, it is intentional.
There is a trait about words that I have found to speak a language without borders. One that transcends the boundaries of time and the weaknesses embodied by another.
We are all stories at the end of the day. Being crafted day by day from a multitude of experiences.
Words are the voice that echo stories too hard to tell but deserving of the light.
They are a distraction from all the chaos that comes from the chores of life. Like a wiper cleaning the windscreen of a car, writing clears the fog that is my brain.
It is a processing of events that speech alone cannot fathom, but requires the company of words.
Of verbs to do and nouns to name that which my heart cannot humanly express.
It is a dialogue between my childhood self and future self about dreams pocketed, fears conquered and footprints in the sand.
Writing is a manifestation of a craft honed over endless edits and incomplete sentences.
Of stories hidden from the public and paper wasted away.
Words form the collection of shattered pieces, foggy memories and the abc's of a lifetime of experiences.
Of titles that remind me of who I am and what I stand for, themes that embody the weight I carry as a sojourner, of fleeting conclusions that pass away like the sands of time.
Each letter is food for the soul and the alphabet a banquet.
Words are the northern star 🌟 curving out the journey trekked and mapping out the way we should go.
Too far in to quit and so much to look forward to - so I keep writing.
