I like to write. The problem is that it seems that my writings are somehow crappy. They do not inspire like motivational passages, they do not arouse deep feelings like famous novels, and heck, they are not even funny. In academic world it would be a failure due to low impact, in a social media world it would be a failure due to lack of so called ‘likes’. So, a natural questions arises: why do I keep polluting the internet with a low-quality content? I would answer this question by the story of mothers.
Our lives begin as an act of love. That love somehow takes a form of a biological cell and grows inside of the mother. In a quite inconvenience the mother bears her child, where her burden and pain increases with each new day. Meanwhile wonders start to happen inside her, a life starts to take a shape of a human being with a brain, a heart and all bodily organs. Everything culminates in a painful process where baby sees the light of the world. New human being is born. For an outsider it might be a pink colored piece of flesh. But for the mother her baby is a an embodiment of the love she had and even of her own life. She hugs her baby and sets out for a long journey of nurturing.
A birth of the child restarts a period of sacrifices for our hero. She devotes her days and nights to raise her little child. She teaches him a basic language, arithmetic and social skills. Soon the child starts to interact with an outside world. Some people seem to be kind, while others like to criticize the child. Indeed children tend to make mistakes, sometimes even dumb ones. But no mother renounces her children for their mistakes. Neither does our hero mother. No outside criticism shakes her faith in her child. Her child might be far form perfect, far from the noble characters that she read about in the books. But she does not care. She does not want her child to become a hero in a novel. She wants her child to be him or herself. That what our hero does.
Perhaps I need to learn this lesson from mothers. Maybe I need to have faith in my writings. They are far from being perfect. They might worth pennies compared to those of masters. However, these writings come from me. They represent my life, my experiences in life and my feelings. I love my writings.