I came from a household where reading or writing was not promoted to us, coming from a strong south-asian background, me and my parents’ journey to learn english was shared: going through a long process of learning how to take on written form with curves and crevices conducted by your hand to create a scribble portrayed as letters And embody what it means to us.
It all started with random performance pieces of while parents listen with joy and cellphones in hand and before long repeating the eligible phrase of “Ma-Ma” or “Da-da.”
When I was four, fresh into exploring my brand new school, walking around with my bulging cheeks, blushed like two of the biggest jumbo marshmallows taped to my face, studying any colourful piece that stay hung up on the wall, until I spotted an eight tentacle creature decorated with an array with polished plastic gemstones and purple glitter reflecting into my widened out eyes. Tip toeing, in attempt to tug my moms dress while pointing viciously to the artwork with a glistened glow in my face, my cheeks pushing up my eyes into a squint looking jangled by invisible strings from a drunk puppeteer. My mum looking down at me reciting a word with a catchy ‘o’ sound, I continued to repeat the jingle of a word while marching through the hallway. “Octopus!” I would cheer.
Soon, inches added to my height, the soft black hair soon falling through my fingers and twirling through my knuckles while shortly extending my repertory to repeating rhythmic rhymes and chanting the ABC’s throughout grade 1 and up. During school hours I would only write because I had to, I only read because the teacher told me to, I never found a joy in the craft; thinking it was a waste of time to scribble thoughts onto paper. Throughout my last years of elementary school I developed a love to write, the ability to create your own world or scenarios which will never happen was a dream. A moment i vividly remember in elementary school was with a girl during 5th grade. We were set on a journey to create our own book–Us and 3 other girls from our class would create unique storylines and roleplay them during recess–We created big plans for this book, signing it off and planning to give it to our librarian to make five; or even five-thousand copies. We spent every nutrition break writing until our hands hurt, writing paragraph after paragraph, page after page while I illustrated each scene. Our journey ended when we found ourselves driving into new passions.
As I got older i found my nose inside books, all the time. Reading whole novels in one day. Curled underneath my white sheets with a flashlight reading the newest addition to “Junie B. Jones.” Pouring myself on the pages of Harry Potter soon extending my vocabulary