Pencil lead smeared on paper. Solid black pixels arranged on a screen. Words are the channel
of ideas; language is the essence of communication. Nobody remembers anything from their
early infancy due to the lack of language. Without language, thoughts cannot be formed, and in
turn, memories fail to be made. Conversely, the more language one has, the more ideas can be
crafted, and the further concretized a recollection will be.
And that’s the allure of it all, isn’t it? 6,500 different languages across the world, and yet more
can be counted if considering various dialects. Over six thousand five hundred separate ways to
communicate, and more can be counted if considering nonverbal methods. Every single person
on this planet interacts, exchanges, and connects with others. Every single person finds their
own way of doing so.
I grew up speaking to my family in our native language: Hakka, a dialect of Chinese. After I
entered the school system, I picked up on English. Neither of these two languages are more or
less meaningful than the other—they are simply different. Being bilingual has broadened the
world for me; it has taught me the importance of countless cultures and how to appreciate the
variation between them. It has taught me how to relay my thoughts in different formats so I can
reach a wider audience.
If I didn’t have language, I would have nothing. It’s no wonder that I save journals dating back to
first grade. Ever since I’ve known how to read, I’ve known how to write. Poetry and narratives,
memoirs and anecdotes—I write to record my thoughts. I lay them out on a canvas and
assemble scenes from the same set of 26 letters I learned in kindergarten, painting landscapes
and constructing stages from my bank of knowledge.
I expand on my stories, overhaul them, and begin new ones all the time. Again and again, I view
writing as a familiar face—something I can turn to as a first resort. I write to reflect and I write to
escape. I write out of obligation and I write out of free will. I write because I can, because it’s
accessible, because I have the privilege to.
I write because it’s meaningful, and because it is an integral part of me that has largely shaped
the way I assimilate the world. To me, literacy is the gift that keeps giving.
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