Thinking about how I fell in love with books and writing brings up a lot of nostalgia to a simpler time in my life.
My love of reading stemmed from a curiosity for exploration . . .
. . . and learning about others like me, but not entirely like me.
My immigrant mother brought my brother and I to the public library every week to watch films when I was in the first grade, my brother was in kindergarten.
Oftentimes, we were the only two little kids in the conference room. It was awesome and felt like our own private showing.
. . .and the world disappeared.
My brother and I sat directly in front of the screen and the clicking of the reel-to-reel film projector flickered to display new adventures that could be.
There were no adults. Mrs. Lopez, the head librarian, set up the projector, pressed play, and left in the darkness. My mother sat several rows behind us, I imagined, most likely reveling in seeing her children enjoy opportunities she didn’t have herself growing up in the Philippines.
Harold venture forward.
With his purple wand in hand, his adventures inspired me with such confidence, independence, and imagination.
I wanted to follow. . . and wondered. . .
. . . could I ever draw my own purple line to see where it would lead?
The same goes with writing. The more I read, the more I wanted to write my own story, to participate with sharing and learning from others and with others.
Sometimes, life gets too complicated and we forget to keep it simple.
Like Harold, I wanted to wander, but at the end of the day. . .
. . .I need to know that it is still okay to feel safe at home.
Our adult lives get overly complicated. It doesn’t need to be that way.
It may be fun every now and then to learn from new inventions, technology, but the bottom line is I like to remind myself to keep the complications out.
Reading and writing brings me back to that key point of my life. Simplicity.
This post was partly inspired by Writing Challenge: Writerly Reflections | The Daily Post.