I have always wanted to write. Not that I'm good at it. I just find meaning in doing it. Sometimes, things can get too tough, and there's no other way to let it all out besides getting drunk. If you asked me yesterday, which I would prefer, I would have said, "get drunk." Yet now, I feel an awakened enthusiasm to write, to share some thoughts, to talk to myself... Maybe in this way, I can release all unwanted thoughts and impure ideas inside me. I'm not treating this blog as a scratch paper where I would just sketch, write, vandalize, and then shoot right through the garbage bin. This could be of some help, to what problem and cause, I don't know. Maybe because of boredom, lack of fulfillment, lack of urgency... I don't really know. All I can say, some of the best parts of my life somehow included writing.
My lolo's house, it's interior, was totally covered by wall paper. I had fun tearing it, coloring it with my crayons and pencils. As a kid, I saw everything as a paper, a canvass, something to write and draw on. I was not a good artist at all. Some punks would call it, graffiti. I did it the moment I knew that a crayon was a crayon, and that a pencil was a pencil. I would go berserk and ballistic at every wall. Everywhere inside my lolo's house.
Now I would not say that my lolo loved my writng and everything I did with those colorful pens and crayons. In fact, he would always reprimand me for doing so. However, everything uttered by older people, good, explicit or harsh, are words of encouragement for an active child like me.hehe Yep, lolo did not love any of my masterpiece, but he sure did love me, a lot. Thanks lo, may you rest in peace there in heaven.
Kindergarten.
I received my first letter from the most beautiful girl in my classroom--- my teacher, Miss Soriano! It was even written in red ink! By then, I could already read and write. I was a bit advanced compared to my classmates. I was sort of popular to the teacher. Popular, because I was doing all the crazy stuff, from teasing, running all over the room, rocking the chair, et. al. I was a reknowned juvenile. I used to get a pinch or two from Ms. Soriano everyday until that one fateful day when the so called love letter arrived.
I could not remember the exact words in the letter. At first Ms. Soriano was trying to complement me for my brilliance in class, and then later, she was castigating me for my stubborness and ingenuity in being a little rascal. Clearly, Miss was disappointed with me... and to think that I considered her an angel back then, my ultimate crush, the one that I adored (never mind the physical punishment.) I was awfully ashamed and guilty. I did not know what to do. I thought she hated me and would not see of me anymore.
It was kind of awkward to go to school the next day. I muttered several excuses to my mom. I simply did not want to go to school anymore. I gave my yayo a hard time bringing me to school. I clung to trees, posts, and as a last attempt, held on to the very door of our classroom. I had no choice but to sit down and behave like I seldom did..
I had in my pocket the letter she had given me the day before. I was uncomfortably silent. As a child, I was traumatized.
I held out the letter and read it once more. I started scribbling at the back of the letter. I wanted to write something. Something that would wash away the confusing feelings I felt that very afternoon. I was thinking and all I could write was a hazy word: Sorry.
And then I added the words: Miss Soriano...
I gave it to her during recess.
She was quite surprised when she read it.
And then she talked to me about it.
I could hear her, but all those words did not seem to matter. All I wanted to hear was that I was forgiven.
After the sermon at the mount, she handed me the same letter which now bear her eternal words "you're a good kid kim" plus a familiar figure, I very well draw--- a heart.
My heart leapt with joy! =)
