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Saturday, February 04, 2006

A second lease

I haven’t read anything that tug at my heart strings for a long time. I mean those that I couldnt even let go at meal times were the literature books and suspense novels painted wild with imaginations in my entire 5-13 years of age. I started reading factually, out of necessity. Miraculously, I still wrote.

At 10yrs old my aunt saw an essay I wrote for a school assignment and told my mum how wonderfully I have written. I didn't think of my aunt very much then, afterall she peeked at my unfinished essay without permission. Out of interest I went for English tuition, my tutor always read my essays out loud in class. I started writing creatively and enjoyed the entire process of dreaming up new characters to fit into imaginative plots. At 16, these essays became the saving grace for my life. In an unexpected turn of events, my academic results tumbled. Somehow the ability to produce something out of a seemingly nothingness of my life was God's way of stretching his hands and whispering to me "Come, try again". I never gave up on life. I also tried my exams a second time. My parents took me to another school. My lady principle, though I cannot remember anything significant about her looks, did something. She gave me a second lease of life. Once I felt like a stray puppy on the street, then I was given an instant make-over. In that year, I won a nation wide essay competition, tying a merit prize together with the brainiest girl in class. Look what grace did to me.

We failed in life. Once, twice and so times more as a child, as a friend, as a wife, as an employee. I always thought artists were irrational, mostly drug addicts, social misfits, unfathomable genius who could not get along with anyone. Mozart, Vincent Van Ghoh & so many tell a past that I wouldn’t want to be part of. Yet I realised how many times I had allowed what I see dictate where I go. I have left my first love - writing for a long long time. Now I am coming back. I am asking for a second lease of life. One of my favourite author, Shannon Woodward said this “Real writing changed lives, made people think and offered hope.” I felt a tug at my heart and I saw what was on God’s mind. He would have added “It’s never too late”. May his grace be ever so sufficient.