Have you ever found a part of yourself or your past you had completely forgotten? It’s not like finding some misplaced trinket: finding a long-lost token fills a person with relief and joy but finding a piece of yourself you had lost can be extremely unsettling. How did you lose it, and why? These questions cascade and invite more introspection: am I the person I wanted to be?
The part of me I found recently was a poem. I never desired or claimed to be a poet. And it wasn’t the poem itself, really. It was the fact it was published in the newspaper. I was in grade two. Sadly, I couldn’t even remember how that must have made me feel, to have something I wrote published in black and white. It must of registered somewhere because in high school I was writing for the local paper again. Now, another ten years on, I’ve started to wonder what happened to those aspirations I had but most of all what happened to that sense of possibility, that ambition.
Some may say it comes with age. But I’m still young. In fact, I think youth is only ever an issue of semantics: “I’m only 28 or 55 or 70” is always more encouraging with the modifier than without. And the validity of the statement will always depend more on the fortitude of its speaker than their age.
I am not a loud person. I am quiet, but thoughtful. This demeanour is the reason I choose to write and not shout my thoughts. On the Internet, I can peacefully jot whatever I may be thinking and those who come to read can decide for themselves if they agree, or if it helps. I will try to add short fiction and other pieces to the portfolio section of this site as well.