I am sitting here staring straight ahead. What I see is myself in a room full of all sorts. To my right is an endless array of things. Items that comprise both important and useless stuff but I won’t bore you with the details. To my left though is the window. It is not even a proper window. It does not open out fully. On hot days, the window is just wide enough to permit only enough air for us to breathe in and nothing more. There is never extra left for cooling us down therefore we are often left baking and dripping with thick sweat!
Well, the reason the window has caught my attention tonight is for a totally different reason. I stare through them fairly regularly because they allow me take in the outdoors. There isn’t much of a view from here but I just sit here all the time telling my son (who by the way is never interested) about how my day has been. While staring out of this window, I tell him how much he is loved, how much we want him to get better and remind him of how proud we are of his resilience and oomph for life.
I am not particularly sure that he realises that I am even speaking to him but he enjoys watching me speak. Not in an engrossed way but in a shut-up-mummy kind of way because, I use a tone that cuts through every activity he might otherwise be busy with. The only tone he understands- a sing-ey tone.
Well, this nice cool evening, as I was about to begin my speech at 8.30pm, I noticed it was getting dark. Summer was finally over. The long days were finally winding down. I know I have had better summers but this particular summer just seemed to arrive and fly by too quickly.
Ping, ping, ping!!! I thought I had better check. It was a very good friend of mine. He was having a good day and just dropped the pings to say hi. Something struck me as we played the ping-pong chatting game. He called me a writer and wished me more success. That … I did not understand. Writer? Me? No way!!!
Writers are important people. They are recluse and have no time for other people. I feel like they must also be very quiet and polite. Have a huge sense of humour and read truckloads of books. Real writers must be loners and have no friends to distract them. I also feel like one has to at least have one book apart from school projects and assignments published to be eligible for that title.
I was anything but these. I certainly did not possess any of these fine attributes. All I knew how to do was write down my thoughts and nothing more. People keep referring to me as a writer and it always feels weird. I just like to write down things as I see and feel them. I do not possess a degree in writing. I have never published a story. I have too many friends and I am certainly too distracted to sit still long enough to WRITE.
I started this piece by giving you a glimpse into my way of thinking, I just notice things. I spend hours talking to people but it gets to a point where you feel like you are taking up their time. Moreover, people hardly listen when you talk to them. They only listen when they come seeking your opinion. So I thank him and all of you who email me and address me as such. Writers are big important people and I am anything but that.
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