The superior act of writing, the act of bending down and crawling on all of your eight thin legs, stitching the strings together to articulate all that is holy of ideas in a written form, is perhaps exactly that and not at all.
Writing perhaps is not that noble of an act. Writing perhaps is not that great of a pursuit. Perhaps it does not have to carry the burden of saving humanity or expressing your petty heart.
Perhaps it is, simply, the opportunity to be an invisible man, to blend with the air and the earth and everything that is above, underneath and in between.
Writing perhaps is about witnessing one insignificant moment, and embodying the insignificance. That perhaps is what so significant about writing.
Oh holy insignificant act of writing.
UNITED ARAB EMIRATES