Before I was out of kindergarten, I had already tried falling into rabbit holes, getting inside mirrors and climbing up trees, none of which led to any different world. Before long I realized that the only thing that entered at night through my open window was cold and sore throat but never any one called Peter Pan nor any flying object that remotely resembled a fairy. I should have given up at that time but I didn't.
Before I started my high school I was sure that the charming prince that all the stories kept talking about was somewhere out there but in a different country or place, certainly he couldn't be from the same place that I stayed in. There was nothing charming about the boys I knew. By the time I went to high school, I had no interest in the prince anymore, charming or otherwise. There were other worlds of mystery and adventure that occupied my mind. By the time I finished my high school, I was so impressed by these imaginary worlds that I wanted to make one of my own. I believed everyone has a story and I believed each one of them are worth telling. And so I took time to listen to those. A friend once accused me of being a story stealer. The thought made me a little proud and I hoped with each story I stole, I was making my own story richer and better.
I wanted to tell my story. But I never did. Not after I finished high school, not in the college, not after graduation, not while I started working, not when I joined my post graduate course and not after I finished it, not when the corporate world sucked me up for the second time and not even now. Because, I don't have a story. At least not yet or rather not anymore.
By now I have lost even the fragments of my imaginary world. I don't have the thoughts or the characters who kept my childhood alive and colorful. Nor do I remember their features or presence. In fact I have started having doubts if they ever existed. They probably didn't. It is just that up until then, I believed that they did. Now I don't. I have heard, seen and read many stories. They all are still worth telling but perhaps I was mistaken. In the course of listening so many stories, I forgot how to tell one. And so now I no more want to create a world of my own. I just want to roam about or get lost in all those other created worlds. May be, just may be then I will find some of the fragments of my world back.
Before I started my high school I was sure that the charming prince that all the stories kept talking about was somewhere out there but in a different country or place, certainly he couldn't be from the same place that I stayed in. There was nothing charming about the boys I knew. By the time I went to high school, I had no interest in the prince anymore, charming or otherwise. There were other worlds of mystery and adventure that occupied my mind. By the time I finished my high school, I was so impressed by these imaginary worlds that I wanted to make one of my own. I believed everyone has a story and I believed each one of them are worth telling. And so I took time to listen to those. A friend once accused me of being a story stealer. The thought made me a little proud and I hoped with each story I stole, I was making my own story richer and better.
I wanted to tell my story. But I never did. Not after I finished high school, not in the college, not after graduation, not while I started working, not when I joined my post graduate course and not after I finished it, not when the corporate world sucked me up for the second time and not even now. Because, I don't have a story. At least not yet or rather not anymore.
By now I have lost even the fragments of my imaginary world. I don't have the thoughts or the characters who kept my childhood alive and colorful. Nor do I remember their features or presence. In fact I have started having doubts if they ever existed. They probably didn't. It is just that up until then, I believed that they did. Now I don't. I have heard, seen and read many stories. They all are still worth telling but perhaps I was mistaken. In the course of listening so many stories, I forgot how to tell one. And so now I no more want to create a world of my own. I just want to roam about or get lost in all those other created worlds. May be, just may be then I will find some of the fragments of my world back.
2 comments:
All fine??
I miss writing. :(
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