WRITINGS ON THE WALL

....stuck in the office on a bright Saturday morning....


My first essay was written when I was 6. It was on a red and pink apple face-shaped notepad. The apple was smiling. I remember I wrote about Christmas, because I asked my mom how to spell 'Christmas'. I don't remember why I decided to write about Christmas though, it wasn't near December. But it was so gratifying, sitting there in our big living room (I was tiny, and the government quarters felt like a playground), that morning I can never forget.

I first picked up a paintbrush when I was about 7. My dad gave a set of three to me, together with a small drawing pad. The first thing I drew was a ball. I used the colour blue, red, yellow, white and black. That time I sat on the stairs at the far end of the house, near the kitchen. It was windy. I spent quite a while on that ball, until I was happy it was round enough. At 12, my teacher liked my painting of a carrot so much she showed it to the whole class as an example; explaining about shadow, colour tone and detail. I won't forget those moments too.

I'm one of those people who keep journals. I started when I was 11.

I'm also one who likes writing letters. Before there were e-mails, I find it most satisfying telling about what everyday life is like to faraway friends by writing them until my wrist hurts.

I still have an unfinished painting in my parent's house.

I've not gone back to my old journals or my letters or my painting. I'm happy that I don't throw them because somewhere there's something good worth remembering.

And I'm so forgetful nowadays.