My life, in an image. I love it. Taken in Sao Paulo, Brazil (2015)

How I Started All Over Again

I’ve always enjoyed words. Don’t we all? We all write many, many of them since from the time we learnt how to pick up a pen. Now we just tap away at glass. I’ve used words to capture deep, intricate thoughts, happy moments and just random notes to myself in a little black book.

For someone who’s been in publishing and marketing for about 10 years, words come…. not so naturally! I’ve had to proof read, watch those spelling mistakes and understand how to convey a message accurately and precisely. Well, sometimes it’s not that easy.

I found words as a comfort from a very small age, as I scrawled across my grandmother’s hallway (to my uncle’s horror) to scribbling on my own bedroom walls. The layers of wallpaper as I peeled back the decades revealed a style of its own. I even penned a few short and long stories.

My father even knew that I had written these, but they never made it anywhere. An imagination locked in turmoil came to approach me in my teenage years and hell broke loose. The power of the spoken word gave way to the words and the war of words continued for many years.

Ironically landing in publishing meant that I wasn’t writing any editorial. The closest I got to perfect were eloquent emails and being able to type without looking at the keyboard. I was fated with doing the one thing that I had loathed — numbers. In my mind, numbers couldn’t be strung together beautifully as words could (someone will contest that, I am sure).

My love was languages and words, and I could write (and I did) for hours on end. Someone else’s name even made it onto my coursework in my last year of secondary school.

Suddenly, I’ve found the urge to express and realise my own existence. The iron curtain finally dropped and there was silence all around. I stood up and chose to carry on, no matter what may be. But those numbers… They still follow me! I have to admit, the only numbers I ever loved were flight numbers.

And airport codes. So there, numbers and letters do belong together. How did we move onto flying? That’s my escape valve. And it is an old friend, but a new passion of mine. The teenage years brought turbulence but also a lot of smooth flying time. I wish I knew how many hours I have clocked up.

In all, it’s been a bumpy ride. But life is a travel experience. The places we have been to, right inside our own minds, the places we have been to, as in getting a bus/coach/plane/car/scooter to some familiar, or less familiar place.

Life many not be full of soft landings but we learn so much by seeing new things, meeting new people and opening up ourselves to new opportunities.

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