writing words

I tell my students to write. Write any words you know. Any words you see. Any words you feel.  Any words you smell and hear. Any words you don’t yet know.  “Just write. And be amazed by the intricacies of life your soul perceives.  Live in awe of the worlds your mind crafts. And most of all never stop writing. Your song needs to be written for the histories you will be creating.  Your words are the one thing no one can steal. They are the translation of your thoughts and revelations of truth.  Words resuscitate your lungs with air to breath, air to speak, air to think, air to love. Without words you are a robot forgetting the gift of humanity and the power you posses. Weave words through every ounce of your being until every heartbeat is a word forever engrained as a piece of your story.”  And then they write and they dance and they laugh and they cry and they dream and they fear and they grow angry and they desire and they struggle and they hope and they are blessed and they know and they question and they love.  I can only hope they will never forget their words, and I pray that in days yet to come they reread their stories and find themselves to be real.  Capable of transforming the world, they are real just as every person is real. 

And some say, “but ma’am, I don’t know how to write.”

And to them I ask, “what do you see outside?”

And one replies:

It’s a strange sky out there. The clouds are threatening rain. The brids are preparing for the storm. They are making noise. Warning noises.  They are flying for safety.

And another replies:

The sky is growling and dark, but we will be safe in here.  It’s beautiful when it storms because everything is silent before it gets loud.  And the leaves on the trees blow but they still stand tall and strong.  The birds are safe in the trees. 

“Do you like the storms?” I ask.

A student answers:

yes ma’am.  They are powerful and beautiful.  but sometimes they scare me because they are too powerful and they destroy my father’s crops.  And ma’am, it’s so sad when that happens because we have no money, and sometimes my brother’s and I have no lunch.  But the storms make my heart beat fast as if I’m in a race about to win.  And I like when my heart beats like that.

Another student says:

No, I do not like storms.  My grandmothers house was blown away in a storm and my grandfather is dead and she is too weak to build a new house.  Ma’am it is so sad.  But I guess I do like them sometimes. When they don’t ruin the houses.  I like them then because they water the fields and fill the wells.  That is a good thing ma’am. 

And some say, “ma’am hindi puede sumulat ako ng English.”

And I ask, “are you speaking right now?”

And they reply, “yes, ma’am.”

And I ask, “what are you speaking?”

And they reply, “tagalog.”

And I ask, “is tagalog a language?”

And they laugh, “of course ma’am.”

And I ask, “what are languages made of?”

“Words ma’am.”

“You say, words?”

“Yes, of course ma’am.”

“hmmm. So can you write words of the Filipino language?”

And they laugh again, “Ma’am, of course we can.”

“Sige.  Words are words. Every language has words, and every language needs to be spoken and honored and heard and written and expressed.  There is no hierarchy of language.  No language that should be heard more than others.  All language has value and all languages need to be celebrated.  Be proud of the words you have.  Make your own words.  Just use words and know that they are yours and they can be shared to help other people.”

And some say, “ma’am I don’t know the words in even Tagalog to say what I want to say.”

“do you dance?” I ask.

“I love to dance,” one responds.”

“do you sing?”

“yes ma’am. I am a very good singer.”

“do you watch the clouds float through the sky?”

“I do,” one hesitant student says.

“Do you cry?”

“No ma’am. Never.  But sometimes.  Only sometimes though. But mostly no,” and the class laughs.

“Do you laugh?”

“Always ma’am.”

“Do you dream in colors?”

“I like to dream ma’am.”

“Do you get scared or happy or sad or angry or filled with such a good or bad feeling that no words can describe it?”

“yes ma’am.  That’s what I mean. I can’t describe it.”

“But, you know you feel it?” I press.

“I think so.”

“I think you know so.  And that knowing is true. And that knowing needs to be felt. And that knowing is the greatest language you could ever hear.  It contains the most powerful words the world has ever known, because those are the words that compel action. Actions that sometimes hurt people and actions that sometimes strengthen people. Actions that dictate the events of the world.  Those are the words you must never forget.  Those are the words that you will be the first to hear, and the one to interpret their meaning. Those are the words that will determine what you do with your life and who you share your life with.”

The storm rolls in and the trees begin to chant. 

“What are the words of the trees right now?”

One student replies, “ they are waiting for a fight.  Ready to defend the birds against the wind.”

Another student says, “but that one over there is just standing straight and tall. Not blowing.  Just accepting the wind and rain.”

A different student rises to say .”I think that baby tree is crying because it is so small and weak and the storm seems so big.  But, it doesn’t know yet the storm will leave and it doesn’t see that it will be able to live through the storm.”

A student interjects, “I see a tree dancing ma’am! It’s happy. It’s singing and dancing and is showering in the rain. It looks so elegant and graceful.” 

“ma’am I’m sad for that tree,” a student says pointing to a tree affected by a parasite of some sort.”

Why?” I ask.

“It is mourning. It is being hurt in the wind and it isn’t strong enough to keep its’ leaves.  Its’ skin is falling off.  It is giving up. It is accepting death.”

“So, every tree is expressing different words right now?”

“Of course ma’am because no two trees are the same one tree.”

“And each of you hear the words of different trees?”

“Maybe ma’am.”

“Interesting.”

“What is interesting ma’am?”

“Do any two of you have the same words? The same stories?”

“No ma’am, we are not the same person as our other classmates,” they say as if this is a new and fragile discovery for me.

“So, what will happen if one of you doesn’t write your words? Or what happens if we only listen to the words from a few of you?”

“That would be sad ma’am.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know ma’am.  It would just make my heart hurt.”

After a few seconds of silence a student stands to say, “it is sad like the kind of sad with no words.  How sad to not see one of the trees and never know the story.”