“What’s with the bag?” my friend wondered with a big question mark written all over her face. Well, here’s the backstory…
I WANTED TO BE AN ARTIST!
In my primary days, I wanted to be an ARTIST. I remembered when I was nine, I helped a neighbour in drawing for a school project. Then, my neighbour’s older Sister exclaimed behind my back (that I overheard) stating that my drawing was very ugly. Then, my parents told me not to waste my crayons and cheap watercolour on drawing nonsense. So, I learned to be resourceful then, I made paper dolls and clothes out of cigarette boxes and paper packaging. I drew for my Friend, Sister and Cousin. I made my dolls and their accessories for the opportunities to use my interest in drawing. No one bothered in encouraging me to draw but I never stopped. Then, there was one instance, one of my P6 Teachers gave us a project to make a card. To my surprise, my guidance counsellor displayed my work at the bulletin along the school corridor. Everyday I looked at it with silence pride and admiration. I never told my parents nor my siblings that it was my artwork. I only whispered to myself, “one day, I’ll have the chance…”
I WANTED TO BE A WRITER
In my secondary days, I am not very good in expressing myself verbally. So, I said every boiling and cluttering emotions inside aloud using only my pen and paper. When Journalism was introduced in my Sec 2 days, I fell in love with it thinking that one day I could be a writer too. Nonetheless, my grammar was totally off and my vocabulary was so limited. Moreover, despite my limitations, I continued writing starting with a diary pouring there all my anguish towards my Mother. The funny thing about my mother then, she said all the negative things about me. But, when I am in school and friends I was accepted even I am poor, short, dark, fat, ugly and not smart. There were so many people who were very dear to me because I am true to myself, naive, easily laughed and didn’t care about what others thought about me… although at times, I had shallow tears. Going back in my secondary days, I had no chance to write but I told my Papa that I wanted to take either Fine Arts or Journalism in college. He only firmly responded that I could take any course in the field of Engineering. So, I did study five years in Computer Engineering. However, my parents didn’t know that I was accepted in the school paper in my freshman year in college. I even topped the exam, which I went through series of writings and there was also an interview with a professor. My Papa didn’t know that I also earned money from my peers and others by writing scripts, poetry and research. What did my parents know that I was paid as a ghost writer? I even wrote speeches for others. In college, nobody even knew that when I stood in front at everyone, (despite my tardiness), my speech was impromptu. Nonetheless, despite the experience, it is a long way for me to go to really write professionally. If only I managed to write my thesis… Well, there will be a time for that….
I WANTED TO CLIMB MOUNTAINS
My Father lived in a mountainous area, I was eleven when I had my first mountain climbing experience in my Papa’s birthplace and I enjoyed it tremendously. Thus, every school holidays, I really wanted to go to places with elevated areas and also climbed on trees. I always told my closest cousins to go hiking and go for mountain climbing. When I was in college, I am very fortunate to found friends who loved nature. We went to different places enjoying our liberty and youth as being one with nature. We even swore to climb higher heights more after we would graduate and also I said the same vow to my cousin… Sadly, something went wrong along the way and I forgot how to have fun and have that sense of adventure. Did I become boring? Probably, I did. Then, a month ago, I saw this bag…. Wow! I always wanted to have one like what mountaineers had on as seen on TV. When I touched it, all the memories flashed back….
I exclaimed at that moment, “it’s never too late!”
A young boy that I used to know claimed all this infatuated nonsense to me. To hear from a child was not flattering but the content of that conversation reminded me now that my attitude towards life and embracing who I am makes me a beautiful person.
He was one of those boys that young girls of his age chased. His friend revealed about something and I answered in disgust, “I can be his Mother.”😖. His friend replied, “…but you’re not…”🙄🙄🙄
I had a chance to speak with that boy together with another of his friend and it was not in private nor in secluded area. The boy admit and as the adult it was not something that I entertained. (Honestly, I took it as a joke. It happened for several occasions. Come on, I am just so used to it. God, one day all of these crap would stop) I was not taking it seriously and said, “you could have seen me now because I am wearing fashionable dresses, high heels and lipstick. Those girls you ignored and hardly noticed will blossom in time. While my skin will lose its glow and I will have wrinkles.”
The boy simply answered, “it’s ok if you aged because there’s surgery. You can surgery the appearance but you can never alter one’s personality.”
Almost a decade ago a boy said that, not in my dreams nor a scene in a movie. Where’s that boy now? I don’t know. I vaguely remembered him but those words reminded me that…
Age is just made of numbers and it doesn’t matter and it’s no big deal. Young or old everyone has equal share of happiness. I deserve it! Indeed, it’s never too late for me. Gorgeous, it’s never late!!! You know that too well too!!!