Somewhere between silence and speech, I write.

Not everything needs to be spoken aloud. Some things are meant for paper for the still, faithful space that catches what the heart holds when words fall short.

This space is my way of honoring those things.

I didn’t always call myself a writer, but I think writing always called me.
In third grade, I wrote a story about Jackie Robinson. My teacher passed it around the school. I remember the way it felt—like something poured out of me that was bigger than the assignment. In eighth grade, we had free-write sessions every morning in Ms. Solomon’s class. I wrote eight pages front and back one day, true stories, raw and unfiltered. She loved it. She walked it through the halls, sharing it with other teachers like it meant something. And it did. It still does.

In ninth grade, we read Bodega Dreams. A story that felt close to home. As someone who grew up in New York City, in an urban community, I understood the world within those pages. Spanish Harlem wasn’t foreign to me. I knew the sounds, the tensions, the pulse of it.

Mr. Ellis, our English teacher, gave us a writing assignment that week. We had a few days to complete it. I poured myself into that story, imagining, remembering, inventing. When I handed it in, I wasn’t sure what he’d think.

A few days later, I got it back with a bright yellow post-it stuck to the last page. It read:

“This was such an amazing read. I loved it. I only have one problem, It needs to be finished."

He gave me an A, and a reason to keep writing.

That’s the moment that stayed with me, not the grade, but the permission. The belief that my words could go further if I let them.

And now, all these years later, I still write.
Not for approval. Not for performance. But because writing is the form that brings clarity to what stirs in my heart.

Of Paper and Light began from prayers, questions, poems, and letters I’d write just to feel close to God. I think of Moses receiving commandments carved by God’s own hand. I think of Jesus, the Light of the world.

So here I am.
Sharing what I’ve written.
Some pieces are resolved. Some are still becoming. But all are part of this walk, mine, and maybe yours too.

You don’t have to read it all. You don’t have to respond.
But if something here feels familiar to you then I’m glad you’re here.

Please do not copy, repost, or reuse any part of this writing without permission.


Welcome to Of Paper and Light

- Jivean Martinez