Writing dominates my life. It has become like a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, an umbrella in the heavy rain or even that sunshine that makes summer the season that it is. Words being hemmed by the sound of my thoughts laces every edge of candle-burned papers and it amazes me everytime. A bag can never be mine unless there is a pen and notebook in it. I never really minded always having to carry heavy bags with me as long as I can blast words with ink. I love writing like that.
But writing was not the fairytale that enveloped my childhood, IT WAS PAINTING. It was paintbrushes giving colors and images to plain white papers. IT WAS PAINTING. When I was young, I painted, painted and painted as the other kids ran and chased each other around. I was in love with colors – I loved them getting all mixed up and creating images just like that.
I cannot remember when was the last time I went to a store to buy paintbrushes. I’m sure it’s been years, many years. It’s surprising how one thing dominates your life and one day, you start walking along the years COMPLETELY WITHOUT IT. Sometimes, something else grows in you and it overpowers everything, just everything and you just fall head over heels. Maybe it was just a lost of interest. No. I know there was a change, a change in me. Probably it’s each day that happened in my life. It’s most likely the circumstances that made me react, made me make decisions, made me feel certain emotions, made me develop my own opinion, made me more and more determined, made me cry at night and when my brother was not looking, made me despise some people, made me miss the past, made me consider what should have been, made me focused on what’s still here and still possible.
And just like that, just by life happening, I changed.
I was no longer so in love with color.
I was and still am so in love with black letters on white papers – or make it cream. I am now in love with thoughts jotted down on memo pads or journals. I am in love with unknown worlds presented in pages. I am in love with people hiding behind those little printed words. Probably, in between every hemmed word are colors and people and lives, and I am completely enveloped by that.
And then, I am once again, in love with painting. Huh? It comes back to you, dear. It really comes back. No matter what happened, no matter what decisions you have made, no matter what feelings you felt, no matter what places you’ve been, no matter how many people you’ve hated and embraced, no matter what perspective you’ve developed in seeing this life, every single thing that made your heart jump will come back. One by one. One day. We all change. Yes, we all have changed and will still do. Yet, they stay with us and one day come back like an old friend who comes knocking on your door because he still knows where you live and what ice cream you like. They, every single thing that we loved, will come back all grown up like us.
And so, I love painting again. I want to paint again. I know it’s been years but I’m sure that when I hold that paintbrush, it’s going to sing me nostalgia and I’ll hold it so dearly never letting it go. Never!
IT STAYS. RIGHT HERE. WITH ME. FOREVER.
What do you love?