When i was 9, my dad called me to his writing table. He had a scowl on his face and asked me sternly, "Did YOU write these?" I suddenly recognised those little papers in horror ... i had been writing at his table and helping myself to his stationery a little too generously it seemed. And the evidence was now in his hand.
I had better confess, I had already been caned enough to last a lifetime, mostly for being too curious for my own good for I had an awful inability to stop experimenting with life (not fun for my parents because i kept using our home as the lab). "I'm sorry ... i thought you wouldn't mind me using those papers..." was the best i could come up with. My father's only reply was, "WHERE did you copy this from?"
Oh no... now i was in for it! I hadn't copied it from anywhere ... and told him so. "ARE YOU SURE?" he asked loudly. I was a deer staring at headlights. In the past, i would be so pressured to give him any answer so he would stop being so loud, that i would end up saying ANYTHING my immature mind could rationalise as logical and end up tripping up in what seemed outright deceit. I had enough caning from those 'lies' since i was 7 to know, when in a corner .. just stay silent or tell the truth no matter how absurd it may be. "I wrote them .. i didn't copy them from anywhere... i didn't ... "i heard myself whisper.. looking him straight in the eye. "Are you sure?" my father suddenly softened his tone. My mother was staring at me in the background. I nodded. "They're brilliant", my father said ..looking at me proudly with a sheepish smile. I hadn't realised it before, but i had been holding my breath. And now, i was beaming.
On those papers were little words i had put together on my own.. little sentences that had come from somewhere inside my heart and head. Things i felt about life and love. Looking back, I can't blame my parents for suspecting their 9-year old of plagiarising things like "There is no reason for living when there isn't a reason for loving" and "In all men lie great things like an oyster in a pearl". It's only as an adult I realised with a smile that my father, an avid reader and lover of words, probably interrogated me so he could read whatever book i was copying from !
It's years later, and I give a silent thank you that my father dramatically confronted me about those little notes. For one fine day, it resurfaced in my mind and became a precious memory that spoke to me about something i hadn't realised all along ... my calling and destiny to be a writer.
In The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho, are these precious lines
"The Boy didn’t know what a person’s ‘destiny’ was… It’s what you have always wanted to accomplish. Everyone, when they are young knows what their destiny is.”It is truth, for i look back now at my entire life and everywhere along the way ... i have always shined as a word-smith. A writer. The words come from around me, swirling in the air .. and they beckon me to be put together .. to be placed in the physical reality of this world. They want to be more than a promise, they want to be real and speak hope ..speak love .. speak truth ... speak to build and affirm a solid home in my heart .. and gradually, a desire to build solid homes in many hearts.
I started writing this with a quote on how i view friendship as earthly constellations .. precisely the kind of words that seem to leap from the air into my head and command to be put on paper. And as i write this now, i realise that the memory of that day when i was 9 came back to me after my father had crossed over. Perhaps, he felt it was time to remind me ... his gift for me from heaven, or maybe, he's still waiting for that book ~
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| ✿ i'm 4 ... already holding a pencil well and writing my heart out :) .. Destiny ✿ |
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