Why do I write?
I’m in the process of considering this question and I came upon a piece of the answer today.
It’s a less obtrusive photography.
I can pull out my notebook and highlight what I want to remember about you. The pieces that stand out. The funny thing you said. But my camera may just make you uncomfortable.
I stood in The Spice Room kitchen trying to photograph what I could with the gentle shutter clicks. Still it felt…off. Maybe their stories didn’t need photographic evidence or maybe I just told myself that so I didn’t have to admit how little I know about my craft.
But with a pencil, it is not immediately known that I have seen. Omit a name and it was never about you. Rearrange a few words and suddenly the world gets what I wanted them to notice.
With words I can show you that pureed spinach actually looks closer to an emerald or the jungle than it does vomit. I can note the scars of chefs who have burnt and cut and created until their bodies subtly reflected the lives they lead. I can tell you that some of my favorite smiles come from these men who sing to themselves and say “the curries will miss you.”
I write because it’s how I think.
I write because we are saturated with images.
I write because this way, you see what I see.
And sometimes my occasionally egocentric self just prefers it that way.
(also I’m constantly in awe and it’s nice to share that)