Thursday, May 28, 2015
This face of Chibi Maruko Chan describes the young me in front of composition homework. It was a weekly thing and I just dreaded writing those 300-500 words. It's like squeezing and pushing out the last bit of toothpaste from the tube. I usually left it till Sunday evening when I absolutely had no choice and even with that time pressure I would write a few lines, pause, count how many words I had done so far, work out a balance and then write and deduct as I carry on with my writing constipation.
Unlike the matter-of-factly maths, writing has never been my thing. My father used to tell me instead of documenting what's really happened, composition is more about making up a story. The young me didn't like the sound of that at all. Once we got the title "My Family Holiday" as our writing assignment. My parents barely talked to each other during all my years with them, let alone a family holiday. So I honestly wrote on the page that I had never been on a holiday with my family and I had no idea what it was like, so I couldn't possibily finish this assignment. Guess what, my homework book was ruthlessly returned and I was to weave a holiday story and hand it back in the next day.
As I grew older, many of my friends started to write diaries. Those little cute notebooks with locks were very popular. I got one too and made an attempt to write whenever possible. Until one day my mom found out that I had been writing about a boy in the neighboring class who'd wait for me to walk me home, etc. (It was nothing serious but young innocent crush), she tore off all the written pages and left me the notebook half filled with blank pages. I didn't know where to put my anger, my mom or the lock that was way too easily picked. With that, I gave up the idea of keeping a diary at all.
I can't remember if my parents had ever read any stories to me when I was very young. Maybe not. I only started reading books (besides textbooks) volunteerily when I was in my early 20's. At that time, I started to envy those people who were able to bring their laptop and write from coffee shops. I realized all of a sudden people who use sophisticated words sound very knowledgable. I couldn't choke one perverb even if I tried to. I mean even if I had, it would've sounded very awkward and forceful coming out of my lips.
It's funny how we are guided by the path life has chosen for us (Or we've chosen for ourselves?). At the beginning stage of this blog, I had the ambition to make a ton of clothes, learn all the techniques and become a freelance pattern designer one day. Once I got it going, I realized I had very limited time each day to dedicate to sewing. To post something once in a blue moon seemed negligent to me. Perhaps I should add a little life stories in between sewing projects to fill the big gaps? So this is me today, exposing my shortcomings and imperfect but happy life, through my immature and flawed writing skills.