Growing up in a remote village, we didn’t have access to a public library. Even our school didn’t have one. Learning English as a second language was a struggle because we didn’t have enough resources to study with. We relied mainly on the teacher’s knowledge and some very old books that I couldn’t even read some of the pages clearly.
Going to high school was a big change. I noticed that my classmates were more advanced in their command of English. So, I frequented the library as often as I could just to keep up. My fascination with books knew no bounds, from Nancy Drew, The Hardy Boys, Mills & Boon and up to fiction and autobiographies of famous people. I was so hooked on those books that sometimes my mom scolded me because I didn’t do my assigned household chores anymore. Sometimes, she would threaten to burn the books. Words like, “Books won’t get you anywhere” was an everyday litany of my mom then. She married young and didn’t finish School so I understood her sentiments. Little did she know that books helped me a lot in widening my vocabulary as well as enhancing my ability to communicate and to write.
Reading books inspires me to write. I copied every passage which seemed interesting and meaningful. Verses, poems and adages found their way in my notebook. I would jot down words that were quite unfamiliar and that I would seldom come across. Whenever I was upset by something or feeling down and melancholy, I would write. It became like a therapy to me. It uplifts my spirit. I could vent out all my anger and frustrations without being laughed at or ridiculed. I discovered I could write more when I was at peace with my surroundings and in a joyous mood. I had a favorite tree in our backyard that I used to climb atop and would scribble notes there. Sometimes, I would sit in the middle of our ricefield and write some observations about the beauty of nature, about how beautiful life is, and about my dreams and goals.
When I went away to college for a couple of years, I wrote lengthy letters to my parents. Being a father’s favorite, my dad would get upset and worried if he didn’t hear anything from me and would show up unexpectedly in my dormitory. It was an overnight trip by boat so sometimes I felt bad about it. Since then it became a rule that I should write as often as I could. During those times, writing became a part of my everyday life. I would exchange mail with friends from other places just to catch up with the latest gossips or just to keep in touch. Oftentimes, I would drop a few notes to my brothers.
Although I’m fond of writing, I didn’t give much thought about developing it until I met my husband .We had a long distance relationship in which it hurt so much to be so far away from each other that I would just console myself by making poems for him. Amidst the humming of the machines in my work area, there I would be, trying to rhyme some words. Some of it ended in the trash can, but others landed on his hands. There’s one composition that he liked so much that he enlarged and framed it and presented it to me when we got married.
Despite a hectic schedule, once in a while I still write .Mostly it’s about my kids little actions that I wouldn’t want my husband to miss-funny things they did, silly faces they made and words they‘re trying to say that brought laughter in the air. All those things I put into the paper so that they’ll know what they were like when they’re growing up and how they brought so much joy into our life.
As I scanned through the pages of my old notebook, I can’t help but smile. It brought back memories from the past and how my life was changed throughout the years .It’s a reflection of who I was and who I have become. I’m glad I was able to bring back those times through the power of writing.
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