I Do Not Write in Anticipation of Applause

Sometimes a question akin to reproach crosses my mind, and I find myself lingering over it for a long time: Who am I writing for, when there are those who do not read? Why do I expend so much effort crafting an idea, choosing a word, and revising a sentence, if some people are content with just the article’s title and then move on as if nothing happened?

This question has accompanied me for years, perhaps because my relationship with writing predates my journalistic career and is deeper than can be summarized in a newspaper page or a number of reads and comments.

During my adolescence, when I was fourteen, I wrote extensively for school theater. I found a particular joy in composing scripts and crafting dialogues, and my teachers used to tell me that I would become a writer. Their words remained in my memory, the years passed, and that passion grew with me until writing became an integral part of my life and my journalistic work.

My relationship with words has not changed, even though the topics have evolved and my experience has broadened. I still spend time searching for the phrase that best captures my idea, returning to the text to review what I have written, deleting and adding, because I want the word to convey its meaning and carry a part of my conviction and perspective on life.

I do not write in anticipation of applause, nor do I ask the reader to agree with me on everything I say. But I believe that an article deserves to be read before it is judged, and that genuine disagreement begins with understanding the idea, not with expressing an opinion about it before knowing its substance. What value is there in a discussion if one of its participants has not even read what they are debating?

What saddens me is that some of us have become eager to pass judgment, content with just a title or a quoted sentence, and then move on, confident in our opinion. Reading, in my view, requires patience and respect for both the writer’s and the reader’s minds; it gives us the opportunity to understand what differs from us, to reconsider what we believe, and to discover ideas that may never have occurred to us before.

Nevertheless, I do not measure the value of what I write solely by the number of reads. An article may reach one reader, who finds in it something that resonates with their experience, or it may open a door to thought for them. A single word may remain in memory for years, while many others that received fleeting attention are forgotten. This is what leads me to believe that the impact of writing cannot be calculated by numbers alone.

When I ask myself today: Who am I writing for? I remember that fourteen-year-old girl who wrote for school theater and heard from her teachers that she would become a writer. I recall the beginnings that shaped my relationship with words, and I realize that I still write out of loyalty to that passion, which has accompanied me throughout these years.

I do not write in anticipation of applause, but I hope that my words are read before they are judged, and that what I write is given a fair chance to reach its audience. There is a significant difference between those who applaud you and those who read you sincerely; applause may end in an instant, but a single idea that reaches a person’s mind may stay with them for a lifetime.

A Bahraini writer