Some things, I find, are too precious to be shared. Like a priceless jewel, they are best kept secreted away; handled and admired in private.
A vivid memory surfaces. September: first week of school. The teacher’s voice, like chalk streaking across a blackboard, screeching the assignment, Write an essay titled, My Summer Vacation.
I picture myself staple-gunned to the board. My whole self, exposed.
Ignoring the homework was not an option. Okay, it was, but the consequence was an ‘F.’ Not a good way to start the school year. So I used my imagination and wrote about a make-believe trip. In other words…I lied. Shhhh!
My summer vacation included friendships, family outings, shared moments and experiences; some too happy, or too sad to put into words. But it was mostly about all of the places I went within myself that made me grow and go back to school just a little bit older and wiser.
I cannot express how I felt sitting out on the fire-escape staring up at the night sky and dreaming of worlds beyond the stars, in spite of the car hor
ns and fire engines whizzing by. Sometimes my elder brother would join me and point out various constellations; he knew all of their names. Or he’d tell me tales from Greek mythology, like The Wings of Icarus. I knew there was a lesson in that one; follow your parent’s advice.
And why would I want to tell anyone what it was like to go to the Hayden Planetarium with my brother, or share a secret and a hero sandwich with a new friend, or quietly walk shoulder to shoulder with my best friend while eating a Mister Softy ice-cream cone?
Reveal my treasures in an essay?
To a stranger?
For a grade?
I don’t think so!
Which brings me back to the topic of writing, or not. That is the question; though the fact that I ask it seems to provide the answer, “Not.”
I am most content when writing just for myself, or for a small circle of intimate friends. The coffee, sweets, and conversations we share last a life-time and deepen our relationships.
That is the reader and the audience I cherish most.
See you next time on October 22nd.
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When you love someone, you want to know everything about them. That someone, in this case, was my maternal grandmother. We shared a close bond, but there was a wrinkle on the face-map of her life that I could not trace. I wish I had asked her my questions while she was still with me.
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The Many Colors of Us: Remembering 9/11
by Veronica JorgeMost people are a combination of various cultures, though I think their ancestors tended to confine their marriages to one continent.
Mine didn’t.
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A story of second-chances, hope, friendship, gratitude, and yes, the redeeming power of love, A Slight Change of Plans, satisfies at many levels. As the title suggests, things may not always work out the way we plan or expect. Colby encourages us to believe that there is a good plan for our lives, and a Master Planner who knows how to put all of the pieces together in the right place if we would only trust Him and let Him.
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The world’s treasures, many of them at your fingertips, in the pages of a book.
Such was my experience during a recent museum visit when I discovered an inspiring and uplifting work of art, Girl Balancing Knowledge, by the sculptor Yinka Shonibare. A British-Nigerian artist, he explores themes of cultural identity in a globalized world. The bright colors of the African Ankara fabrics he uses in his pieces are appealing and strikingly eye catching.
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Below is an excerpt from one of our 2024 mentees, Veronica Jorge, from her project, Crushed Like Sugarcane, based on her Chinese ancestor, Zhou Zhijian, who left China to work in the sugarcane fields of Cuba where he was enslaved. In this portion, newly arrived and unwilling to accept the situation, he decides to escape:
Nothing Found
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Enjoyed your article, Veronica. Writing, or not, is such a subjective thing, isn’t it? We all write for different reasons and I agree with you that some things are just too precious to air to the public and we want to keep them secret, to be shared only with a few. I also think that I could never write for others, to cater to a taste or a market. I write my best when I let it flow as naturally as my breath, and that cannot be contrived. It just has to happen in its own way when it will. I call it my meditation, actually. And it arises from all things universal.
Thank you for this post.
Thank you for that reflection, Neetu. Seems like we have alot in common.
Glad we do, Veronica. 🙂
Yes, Neetu. Me too.