Hi all,
So, I have been racking my brain as to what my first post should be here. I was going to start at the beginning but that is a common place miracle we all share; since at one point we were all stardust and then the universe or a higher power conspired through an eon of design or happenstance to bring atoms and energy together just so and then there you were, as was I . So it is far more interesting in my opinion as a fellow reader, to start at the point where words or the lack thereof, became important to me. But first let me begin with cherry blossoms. Every year I look forward to them, and when they come I smile to myself, each blossom is oh so evocative you see, and as each of my children grows old enough I show them the blossoms and commit the name to their memories and one day I will sit them down and tell them why they are so significant to me.
I came to England at the age of four, it's an age when you're hardly an expert in your own mother tongue let alone the language of your new home. I started school very shortly after, it was all a confusing blur of noise and sights all of which were alien to me; the sounds did not soothe and the sights offered no comfort. There were no mimicking calls of Myna birds, no lush verdant trees laden with mangos and guavas, no sun baked clay, so parched it was as plumes of dust under every footfall. So I either consciously or unconsciously I don't recall now, I decided to ignore what I did not understand, the time in the classroom blurred from one day to the next, I didn't speak as I no longer had the words; the world shrunk around me and grew quiet. Oh I'm sure I still did the usual things a four year old did, I played, I tried to understand, I watched the teachers and fellow students keenly for when to sit, when to hold the pen, when to practice, when to stand in line. I'm sure I became proficient at a perfectly timed nod of the head and to smile just so, to not invite too much scrutiny. My only reprieve, was the break times, those short segments of time when we were let out of the confines of the classroom. The primary school I attended had a cement cylinder that lay on its side, most probably for the children to use as a tunnel. But by some odd lack of forethought in planning or execution, it was right at the back of the playground where other children rarely went. Which made it the perfect hideout for me and I would sit in there and just enjoy the silence as it should have been, as something to savour, not something to be used as armour, it became a magical place that first spring I was there; as the trees overhanging it were covered in cherry blossoms, and the petals would rain down at every flutter of the breeze. I would sit there until the teacher came out with the brass bell and signal the end of play.
Hours passed into day and days passed into months and one day, to my surprise, I found I was able to pick out different sounds from the sea of noise, one by one, words started unfurling and blooming in my head again, to have meaning again, tone and cadence started appearing and giving the words gravity and depth and emotion. Once those clouds cleared and the words fell like petals, I heard words everywhere, and finally, at long last the story times on the carpet started being a joy rather than an exercise in frustration for after all there is only so much that can be gleaned from a briefly held up drawing in a book. The school library visits were no longer just aimless wonderings. Once I realised the words could be at my fingertips, I worked diligently and painstakingly and learnt to read within a few months or so. After that I became a voracious reader, often having to be sent to other classrooms for new books all at the dismay of my teachers. Though I was never going to be the biggest talker, I found that I didn't need to be to end the silence around and in me, I had found the words and I was not going to let them go, I was determined to find them all and I knew books were going to help me to do that, I just had to read them.