Jan 2013
Ever since I was a little girl I wanted to write.
Something about words and books mesmerized me and captured my heart.
You would always find children playing with the sand at the beach building sand castles and their dreams but me, I’d always find myself looking for a shade away from the noise to read my favorite fairytale. My mother always thought that I didn’t like other children and their company. I liked other children but I liked myself more and enjoyed being alone with my fairytales and daydreams. I was raised as an only child. I’ve always seen little boys and girls playing around and I secretly wanted to be with them, to play aloud and laugh so innocently but I couldn’t so I would just smile at them and walk away. I was too shy. Even as a little girl people always said that there’s something different about me, too quite and polite. My mother used to take great pride in that. She had the quite girl with the angelic smile. Yes, I used to smile a lot even to strangers. I never remember why though. I loved her with all my life even though she wasn’t always there, my mother was.. I don’t remember what she was like but they all told me that no matter what, she always loved me. I remember sneaking into her bed when I was afraid, but I don’t remember what used to frighten me. I know that I wasn’t afraid of the dark; in fact I loved the dark. I couldn’t sleep with a single dim light on. My nanny used to tell me a bedtime story every night before I go to sleep. I remember that I couldn’t sleep without holding her hand and hugging her. Can you believe it? I couldn’t sleep without having my nanny holding me. She was the love of my life. I loved her more than my own mother I am afraid. She loved me like I was her own. And every time she travels to visit her family, I would cry myself to sleep. Remembering her smile, her bedtime stories and every time she held my small hands. My mother used to come check on me in bed and I used to hide beneath my blanket because I never wanted her to see my tears. Every time she tries to read me a bedtime story it never felt the same. I used to write about how I miss my nanny and how it never felt the same with my mother. I used to write about a lot of things when I was younger. I used to love the smell of a new notebook or a book. I would read a book then write about how I enjoyed it. I used to have a lot of pens and pencils I loved pens because they made my handwriting look pretty and pencils because they would let me erase my mistakes. I never chose between them so I found myself writing with both of them in every page.
As a child I had so many scattered thoughts, whenever I start writing I find myself end up drawing on the same notebook. I loved drawing as well. I used to buy all the different pencils because colors were too much for me. I loved seeing them but I never liked using colors. I loved every shade of grey there was. And I loved my pens and pencils the most of all.
Something about words and books mesmerized me and captured my heart.
You would always find children playing with the sand at the beach building sand castles and their dreams but me, I’d always find myself looking for a shade away from the noise to read my favorite fairytale. My mother always thought that I didn’t like other children and their company. I liked other children but I liked myself more and enjoyed being alone with my fairytales and daydreams. I was raised as an only child. I’ve always seen little boys and girls playing around and I secretly wanted to be with them, to play aloud and laugh so innocently but I couldn’t so I would just smile at them and walk away. I was too shy. Even as a little girl people always said that there’s something different about me, too quite and polite. My mother used to take great pride in that. She had the quite girl with the angelic smile. Yes, I used to smile a lot even to strangers. I never remember why though. I loved her with all my life even though she wasn’t always there, my mother was.. I don’t remember what she was like but they all told me that no matter what, she always loved me. I remember sneaking into her bed when I was afraid, but I don’t remember what used to frighten me. I know that I wasn’t afraid of the dark; in fact I loved the dark. I couldn’t sleep with a single dim light on. My nanny used to tell me a bedtime story every night before I go to sleep. I remember that I couldn’t sleep without holding her hand and hugging her. Can you believe it? I couldn’t sleep without having my nanny holding me. She was the love of my life. I loved her more than my own mother I am afraid. She loved me like I was her own. And every time she travels to visit her family, I would cry myself to sleep. Remembering her smile, her bedtime stories and every time she held my small hands. My mother used to come check on me in bed and I used to hide beneath my blanket because I never wanted her to see my tears. Every time she tries to read me a bedtime story it never felt the same. I used to write about how I miss my nanny and how it never felt the same with my mother. I used to write about a lot of things when I was younger. I used to love the smell of a new notebook or a book. I would read a book then write about how I enjoyed it. I used to have a lot of pens and pencils I loved pens because they made my handwriting look pretty and pencils because they would let me erase my mistakes. I never chose between them so I found myself writing with both of them in every page.
As a child I had so many scattered thoughts, whenever I start writing I find myself end up drawing on the same notebook. I loved drawing as well. I used to buy all the different pencils because colors were too much for me. I loved seeing them but I never liked using colors. I loved every shade of grey there was. And I loved my pens and pencils the most of all.
