Life passes, but words remain forever

There is a story the world is still waiting to hear. It does not sit on a bestseller list, nor is it taught in classrooms or quoted in speeches. It lives in half-finished conversations, in memories never written, in thoughts that pass through the mind and disappear before they are given shape. This story might be yours!
The act of writing is not reserved for authors with publishing deals or shelves of awards. It begins with a single, uncertain sentence — the kind that does not wait for perfection or permission. The kind that says: this is what I have seen, this is what I have learned, this is what I want to remember.
To write is to claim authorship over your own life. It is to resist being reduced to a note in someone else’s story. The truth we rarely acknowledge is when people do not write their stories, those stories are often lost or told by someone else. That is why so many voices remain silent, not because they have nothing to say, but because they believe their stories are too small, too ordinary, or not worth telling.
Yet the world has never been shaped by grand stories alone; it is shaped by honest ones. A mother documenting her journey, a student reflecting on failure, and a worker capturing the drama of everyday life — these are not small stories. They are the threads that weave the fabric of human experience.
Now imagine how much of the world would disappear if these stories were lost. This is why the day, April 23, exists. Marked globally as World Book and Copyright Day, proclaimed in 1995 by Unesco, the day is not merely a tribute to books. It is a defence of memory and a celebration of expression. It reminds us that what we choose to write is, ultimately, what we choose to keep.
The date also carries historical significance. On this day in 1616, two giants of literature, William Shakespeare and Miguel de Cervantes, took their final breaths. Centuries later, they continue to speak — not because they lived, but because they wrote. That is the difference; life passes, but words remain.
On this day, we often celebrate reading as one of the few acts that asks nothing from us except presence, but gives us everything in return. It stretches the mind, deepens empathy, and reminds us that our perspective is never the only one. To read is to receive the world; to write is to give something back.
Reading opens doors that reality alone cannot. It allows us to borrow lives, test ideas, and travel without moving. In a fast and broken world, it restores us — teaching us to listen, reflect, and imagine.
But reading is only half the story. The other half is far more personal, and it is found in writing. Perhaps this day serves as a reminder that the world is not only built by those who write, but limited by those who do not. And that choice still belongs to each of us.
So write before the moment passes. Write not for applause, but for truth. Because long after we are gone, what remains is not only what we achieved, but what we chose to share. The world is ready to read your story. The world does not need more perfect stories. It needs more honest ones.
Somewhere tonight, a thought will arrive — clear, honest, and powerful. It will ask to be written, and like so many before it, it may disappear — not because it lacks meaning, but because it was never given a page. It calls us to write — not someday, not when we feel ready, but now. This thought is not waiting for perfection. It is waiting for permission and that permission can only come from you.