From what I can remember, ever since I was a small kid I have loved reading and writing. I have also had this special love for writing instruments, pencils, pens and paper. A love so strong that throughout the years it has not only stayed with me and helped me get through hard times as well as good times, but it has also turned into a passion.
Of the love of writing and writing instruments I don’t honestly remember which has led to which. What I do remember is that back at home we had a cupboard where my mom used to store our school supplies. See we lived in a village and my late father traveled to the city almost every week for his work. At the start of each school year he would get us copybooks, pens, pencils, sharpeners, rulers, erasers and loose paper by the dozens or boxes full. I couldn’t wait to rush home so I could use my pens and copy my lessons into my notebooks.
I used a different pen for each of the various subjects and languages I studied. At school we were not allowed to use pens anyway. I loved the smell of ink on paper. I loved how paper smelled and how a new notebook felt in my hands when I leafed through the pages. I still do. I was always busy, reading and writing.
When I think back to my childhood days it seems that it is almost always those quiet moments of reading and writing that I have enjoyed most. Those are the times, certainly, when I have been happiest even if I was only copying a lesson. I don’t remember going through any period of my life suffering from ‘nothing to do’.
Looking back over the past, I am sure of one thing. My tastes have remained basically the same. What I liked to do as a child, a kid, I have liked to do later in life. So it seems that I made my own world and my own playthings. By now though, reading has also become an escape. A retreat into an imaginary world through the printed words.
And when creating or writing was once a time, a period of complete happiness to me, it has become a means of therapy and escape now. An escape to a fantasy world where things like death and all happened to the characters in a story, to the heroes or heroines, in other words to someone else and not quite me.
“The essence of a story is that it’s a lie that tells the truth. It’s not just a lie that is told in order to deceive; it’s not an operational lie; it’s not a lie in order to make someone let up, or not to nag, or not to punish you in some way. Thus it is a lie that reveals about the world.” Herbert Gold