Recently, I started taking a class called “Magazine Writing.” The basis of this class is telling stories; your stories, others’ stories and so on. We discussed why each of us was interested in writing, and it really made me reflect on why I love to write.

I love to write because it helps me express my thoughts. I usually have a million thoughts circling through my head at all times, all running a mile a minute. This is why I’m terrible on the spot, because I can’t sort through them and speak them in the way I want to, in the moment. I need to sit down, sort through them and write out what I really want to get across. Putting words on a page helps me do that.

I love to write because I love stories. I loved reading books growing up and learning about people, cultures, other worlds, fiction, non-fiction; all of it. I loved learning about things outside of my own life and I want to be able to do that for others. I want to travel all over the world and meet people and share their stories; their lives, their struggles, their aspirations. I want to be a journalist because I want to find stories that would not get told otherwise and shed light on what’s going on in the deepest and most forgotten pockets of the world.

I love to write because it’s what I’m good at. I was never good at math or science. My brain does not click with numbers, but it does with words. English, History, and the Social Sciences all fascinated me because they told stories. They deal with people, past, present, real and made-up. They deal with life, and humanity, and things that we all go through.

This is just the tip of the iceberg for why I write, but I think you get the point. Writing is an outlet for those who have stories with no one to tell them to. It’s a form of expression for those who can’t find the words on the spot. It’s a way to explore and learn, and most importantly, it’s a means to leave a little piece of us, our voice, long after we’re gone.