The joy that writing has brought me has been healing. I have been able to feel a rainbow of emotions that have allowed me to cleanse my soul.
Like many of you, I have written in my diaries here and there since I was a child. Sometimes I was inspired enough to put together a poem, even filled some notebooks. Other times I would have written just a few words and fill in the blanks with drawings.
I remember spending hours fantasizing about what I had read and writing my own stories. When I was a child, my father uses to read me fables, mostly from our Venezuelan natives, but also from around the world. My favorites were the fables from the Venezuelan editorial Ekare and those from the Danish author Hans Christian Andersen
Just now writing about these memories has drawn a big smile on my face! I also remember when my brother and I used to create our own comic books. We even had our own editorial house, those times when we considered ourselves professionals in all our affairs!
The walls in our home entrance were plaster with books, giving me the impression of arriving at a magic place every time I came back from school.
The walls at the entrance of our house were covered with books, which use to give me the impression of arriving at a magical place every time I returned from school.
I also used to use the space to lie alone on the floor every time I got upset looking at the books and waiting for them to talk to me.
That space was full of surprises to discover, such as when I managed to sneak into the forbidden books, or when I found the first cigarette I ever smoked, in a box left by one of my father’s colleagues. I found them on the high shelf where my father tried to hide Marlboro’s box that I would never forget.
Being around books became a big part of my childhood, there was always a reminder, either because my dad used to leave the dining room table full of disorganized books, magazines and newspapers, or just hearing my mom’s voice telling dad
Victor, why do you always have to leave a mess? continuing with her deceiving threaten
I will throw all your books!
My parents used writing as a way to express themselves, my mother wrote about her emotions or when I wanted to tell my father something that was not easy for her, I wrote her a note. My father always wrote for academic purposes.
P.S. Here is my memory of that Marlboro’s box, so you can see the reason why I never forgot it 🙂