by Cithlaly Aguilar
I remember this. I am hunched over, elbows on my desk, face buried in my hands. The clock reads 2:00 a.m. I am struggling to finish the last chapter. Everything seems turbulent. The story. The characters. The facts.
The Syrian Civil War no longer seems real. It seem like fiction, soley a plot point in my imaginary story. The hours I had poured into researching seemed pointless. Every sentence required new knowledge, knowledge that I could never be privy to. Cold facts and statistics about the number of refugees lost at sea don’t translate into emotion. Even when google told me how I should pronounce my character’s names, I couldn’t ever be truly sure. Was it Kai-da or Kee-da? Google gave me varying answers. I decided it was Kai-da.
It was then that I realized that no matter how long I researched, no matter how diligent my efforts were to be accurate, there would always be something I was missing. My character’s experiences were fabricated and my connection to the conflict was distant. I could sympathize, but never empathize. I realized then, the story wasn’t mine to tell. This both disappointed and liberated me.
“The story wasn't mine to tell. ... I only borrowed it, in hopes to bring those who read my writing to the real voices and faces who inspired my work.”
Once I realized that perfect representation of the conflict was achievable, I leaned into mistakes. I was able to take charge of my story once again. I was free to write as I pleased, and was humbled that my writing could never be immaculate. I was able to let go. The pressure lifted off my shoulders and I was able to write again.
Yes, this wasn’t my story to tell, but I could still take ownership of my writing. It would never be perfect, but that was no longer a requirement. I was satisfied knowing that my story could have an impact on those who read it, even if they were just as much distant from the conflict as I was. The story was never mine. I only borrowed it, in hopes to bring those who read my writing to the real voices and faces who inspired my work. I borrowed their stories so that others may hear theirs. This was the true goal of my project.
Commenti