You know, I can’t describe how disappointed I am for not keeping all the good novel that I’ve written in the past. Yes, I was one of those kids who spent the entire afternoon in their bedroom writing to many kind of fantasies on paper with their typewriter or writing in their diary sometimes, just to show off to their parents; that they have a talent at writing.
Well, there was a time I wished I were a great writer.
With a good IBM electric typewriter in the early 90’s on my dad’s private office, I often sabotage it and put it in my bedroom. I always put it right just between 2 windows so that I can write a good novel while enjoying the beautiful greenery on my garden.
Oh, how memorable those moments were 🙂
I remember the excitement of typing each letter of an English short novel cautiously I made; trying not to misspelled the words, while enjoying the fresh and breeze afternoon air with french fries with a dip of chili sauce on the side. Two fingers were dancing all afternoon typing one letter to another and of course with a thick English dictionary accompany my presence while doing some vocabulary research. (Closing my eyes and visualizing as if I was back at 20 years ago, sitting at the same chair as I sat right now and thinking, how it might be different if the air still the same. I don’t have to close my bedroom window and turn on AC every time I writes diary/stories with my notebook just to avoid the air that are just too polluted).
Call me a geek or a freak. None of that matters to me since then although I realized what I’ve done; writing novel, was a little bit unusual for a third grader girl. Of course I didn’t spent the whole afternoon like that everyday, I still have friends and games to play with.
But for now, I was actually thinking the opposite; why wasting time playing instead of writing novel.
It hits me when I noticed; I don’t remember exactly when, that there are a school grader appear to be a famous little writer and have her book published in the book store. I’m happy for her achievement by the way, but it made me bit gloomy on the day i found out about the little writer girl. I was petrified by many assumption and Ifs in my head.
If only i know what to do when i was in third grade
If only i know what i can be at that young age
If only i know what should i do with my writings not just as a hobby
If only i know that dreaming and fantasizing aren’t shameful
If only i was stubborn enough to keep on doing at what i like
and ignore what other ruthlessly might say
If only i have the courage to fight my parent’s conviction
that there was actually another thing to do as a third grader other than just study academically
If only i have a strong will to continuously writing till someone notice my work
even though they say writing was pointless and waste of time.
If only i knew that i love writing so much…
I won’t let it go, not even an inch…
I might probably taking a Literature as my major instead of Architecture when i was at college
I would still keep that typewriter at my bedroom
keep on making weird and weird stories; so they say
as if there was no tomorrow
I would see pile of papers of novel of mine
amass on my floor promiscuously even with the crappy ones
I would still writing novel since third grade up until now…
With many events going on in my life, either with commonplace or contretemps, i wonder why am i so easily discarding valuable objects even with things that i strainingly bid for.
Then, why am i writing this here?
Perhaps, this post will remind me as ‘The causality of me in the past and at present time’ which brings me back to my memories when i was in third grade.
To Be Continue…
Read the next chapter, 3B >>>