I was only five years old when I got into trouble because I told my teacher what my mother and her co-parents had been saying about their observations of her (my teacher’s) not-so-nice demeanor. Call it a traumatic experience (I think so, too…) but a lot of times, what I have become (silent/melancholic) has saved me from unnecessary skirmishes and hair-pulling incidents that my contemporaries easily get into.
I became this monster — one who wouldn’t speak unless spoken to, and one who’d rather write her thoughts than speak them out. Being on silent mode most of the time developed my observation muscle — I have become a keen perceiver of people’s behavior. That’s nice, but not until I realized I have leveled-up into another type of monster — the silent and perceptive/intuitive pen-wielding type who’d live and die a recluse given enough encouragement from embittered old maids.
Teaching kids taught me to loosen up a bit and have fun. Working with marginalized groups also taught me to speak for others who cannot speak for themselves. I learned to write with a purpose, and I learned to write with passion. I learned to read the Word of God and to understand the creative divine process as He makes things beautiful in His time.
At times I am reprimanded for being lazy, sullen, mean, scared, melodramatic, overly emotional, apathetic, detached, careless, cranky, impatient, tactless, sloppy, mundane and a combination of all of these, but I am learning… Indeed, I am a work-in-progress, but by God’s grace, I am getting there.
I feel weird when I don’t have a pen and paper inside my bag, or when bereft of any device or gadget on which to write/record/save my thoughts. – rvm