Fragment #65 - What's being a writer?

I curl up my hands around my cup. I forgot how cold it was here compared to Dakar. I’m standing right in front of the bow window, watching the sunrise. Steve is still sleeping. How can I go back to work like nothing happen? Dakar is another world: going there as someone, you don’t come back the same. I have things inside me that I need to express but I don’t know how. I could write, of course, but I don’t think an article would be suited. Maybe something else, like a diary? Oh, come on, Charlie, you’re not a little girl anymore! Diaries are for secrets and things that need to be kept away. Which is not the case here. On the contrary, I would say. I want people to know about those things that Dakar and Africa put inside me. So what? I don’t think I’ll get published just over a text on my trips…
I walk a little in the room. It’s so early. I could go back to bed and hide in Steve’s warmth, but I want first to resolve this dilemma.
Why do I want people to know about what I think? To praise me? To confirm what I feel? Why do I need to write? Where does that impulse come from? Why do some of us have it and not everybody? Can everybody write? Jesus, Charlie, it’s damn too early for this kind of questions!
But I can’t help it. That’s also being a writer: always questioning the world around us.

The sun is rising, and I still don’t know what to do.