So We Write About Who We Are And Why That Matters.

Happy Christmas, Happy Hanukkah , Joyous Kwanzaa, and Happy New Year to you all.

(Fun Fact: Today is the third day of Kwanzaa. Those who celebrate today are celebrating Ujima, which is like.. community.)

Anyway, I wanted to do a little self-reflection, seeing as it’s the holiday season and whatnot.

See, there’s this poet. His name is Adam Falkner and he is amazing. But the point is he’s got this poem that’s really great, called My Father’s Family, and in this poem he has this line:

“So we write, about who we are, and why that matters.”

And he goes on to spit more really sick lines, and it’s beautiful, but that one line got me thinking. Who are we, and why do we matter? Obviously I can’t speak for you, but the question has prompted a bit of soul-searching on my part.

So I got to writing, about who I am, and why it matters.


I am multiracial , and proud of it. I’m affectionate to a lot of different people, but I only really love a few. I think too much. I drink too much tea and chew too much ginger. I think women are beautiful and men are too. I have dreams bigger than my head and my head is pretty big in a figurative sense (as well as in a literal sense, especially if you count my hair). I believe in a universal good, and in a universal evil, and I think that a little bit of both exists in each of us. I think it’s a waste of time to be offended or insulted, so I try my best to avoid it. I pull my own hair when I’m scared, or nervous, or upset. I get test anxiety even though I know I always do well, and I get social anxiety although I know people generally like me. I miss my best friend. I lie, a lot. I constantly write letters to the people I care about most, but few of them are ever read. I believe more in myself than I do any sort of Higher Power. I stumble over my words and my own two feet, at lot. I am my father’s daughter, with all of the aggression and intensity and beauty that comes along with that. I am someone who knows exactly how cruel kids can be. And I know exactly how cruel I can be. I am someone who will one day have lines of people, waiting to meet her. I matter because I know that one day I’ll do something fantastic; and people will see me in the streets and want to shake my hand.

Who are you?



12 comments on “So We Write About Who We Are And Why That Matters.

  1. when i close my eyes i see stories. when i open my eyes i still see them, but i have to pretend like i don’t. when i write i can see the stories with my eyes open, and i don’t have to hide.
    i never want to lose my stories, even though by having them i’m probably missing a lot of real things that aren’t behind my eyes.

  2. I’m confident. I know what I can do and what I can’t, and I’ve learned not to try what I can’t do. When I don’t know whether or not I can do something, I’ll try it before I assume anything (unless it’s flying off of skyscrapers without a bungee cord). What I can do I try to improve, and writing about whatever makes me improve causes me to improve even more. I also know that whatever I do, I do knowing that my God is in control. I know that my life is great, but I also know that it’s not always going to be that way– it’s better to be trusting in Him when disaster falls than get a late start. Though I’m generally disappointed by all the bad things that happen in the world, I know that contrary to popular belief good will triumph eventually. Happy stories mimic real life; the middle might seem horrible and everything has gone wrong about 3/4 of the way through the story, but the end is always good. I think life is incredibly interesting in its intricacies and its interwoven stories, with the good vs. evil plot making itself known throughout.

    But I’m confident. I’m confident that I’m not a horrible person, that I’m not an idiot, that I’m not conceited. If no one else has self-confidence, they can’t object to mine.

    As always, you’re awesome, Fee.

  3. […] Tweet of the Day: So We Write About Who We Are and Why That Matters  […]

  4. That was beautiful.Right there is the reason I love poetry (and write it as well) if it can inspire someone to make sense of who they are or what life is or how things really can be… That’s worth something. Maybe someday I’ll make a post on this topic but now I’m still trying to understand who I am.

  5. I’m not a trusting person. I’ve met lots of reasons not to trust people in my life. I’m not one to identify with such concepts as reality, normalcy, or even belonging. I do not care for opinions unless I am certain of the nature of the person who made them. I like to think there is something indescribably good in all people. I have yet to experience it on any level, but I’m oddly certain that I will hang on to the hope of seeing it until I die.

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