Ever since I can remember, I love writing my thoughts and dreams down on a piece of paper. This happens especially when something or someone made me happy. I wrote a lot about my mom and dad when they bought me a new school uniform, books, or pencils.
One time, my father came home from a market called Afo Uzoagba, clutching a locally smithed tin-can portable waterproof briefcase, partially tied to the left handlebar of his bicycle, for extra safety. He did not want to pack it with his marketing stuff at the back of his bicycle in baskets of goods.
When he alighted upon reaching the middle of the compound, we (children) all rushed to welcome him back. Before anyone could ask what he was clutching in his hand, he quickly announced that “This box is for my sister (that’s me) to put her school books and pencils so the rain would not damage them” … (Truth be told, a few days earlier, I cried my eyes out when coming home from school and the cocoyam leaves which I used as an umbrella to protect me from the pouring rain, could not protect my brand new school books that my mother bought for me for my second week of school.) Referring to me, his second daughter as his sister, is a traditional way that my father used to let people know that I was an incarnation of his dead sister.
I recall writing a note for myself n how I would do things to make my parents happy the way they made sure I went to school amid innuendos of not sending a girl to school. I later discovered the tattered note when I was in Edinburgh, Scotland in my late teens. As I matured and looked back on my notes, I realized that they were all about things that were positive.
Asking myself why I wrote only positive thoughts down, I discovered that I deliberately did not want to remember negative things that made me sad. So, I tried to forget them, perhaps out of fear of re-living those scarry or sad moments.
Two incidents stood out for me that I did not write down. One was a song I learned in my night sleep at around the age of five years. When I woke up and started singing it, people made a mockery of me in having such a noble dream…so I stopped singing it and I did not write it down, but I never forgot it. The second instance was when my childhood cat died a tragic death, I again buried it in my subconscious mind but did not write it down and did not talk about it, although every now and again, something would happen to remind me of it, I simply banished that negativity.
Yet I love writing and I write vividly. One of my university professors complained that my writing was “too flowery”. For me, that was an inspiration that I can bring stories to life.
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