The map to what I feel

There are a multitude of reasons why I refrain from writing these types of "pieces". In my mind, it forces you to shed the mask of fictional stories/characters(which aren't a cover, I would argue; rather the holographic beam into your soul). Ends up making you take up a mirror to your mind, seeing why you do what you do. Actually no. Observing why you do, what you do.

When I was growing up, I was a mixed bag. By some identified as boisterous, loud, competitive, proud - and by others, quite ordinary, determined, simple, hardworking, sensitive. Both combination of labels coming with the chain of others in the set, or dismissal of all. Why did I bring this up here? Well, even though every single one of these labels deemed fit numerous times(sometimes to my complete dismay), I find when I retrace my childhood, there was always a deeper intention, inclination, inkling,. (however you wish to call it) to how I saw the world or rather or how I felt the world.

People were always the best part of it. Before I started writing with a form of narrative flow (of any sort), I would always have fragments. If I had a movie, I really loved, I would doodle the characters', movies' names; If I loved a book, I would tell my friends to not read it so that I could narrate it to them. It would bring me grave joy to build up the tension as a narrator and see if I succeeded in holding them from the inevitable twist in the end. If I had an amazing day with friends, I would want to capture it, but in exactly the way I was feeling. Or if someone's gesture moved me deeply; I would have this surge from within like....explosive energy. Like as if I couldn't wait. To make the world take this path, to experience this path, to this feeling..as this would etch into the heart; therefore making them a part of you - forever. I want you to take this journey with me...let me walk alongside, guiding you; but I promise, it is you who will choose the turns and the terms.

And so of course, my first narrative written "piece" was an ode..or an essay? It could even be described as just a combination of paragraphs with or without grammatical precision. It was a big document I had started typing out when I first had this spark while listening to stories from my mother of my maternal late great-grandfather (my mother's grandfather). I was moved by a man I had never met/seen in my life, merely through vintage photographs. The fondness with which my mother's family would remember him would engulf me completely. He would take the effort to translating textbooks when his grandchildren couldn't find the syllabus they wanted to study in English(they had Tamil textbooks). He would never turn down anyone in the neighbourhood when they came to him for help. Various accounts in which he always treated everyone with kindness and dignity. Even the extended family, when I met them would corroborate these experiences. This so-called "ode" started with his name and what I interpreted of him from these stories about him. It made me develop deep respect and made me wish for the opportunity to get to know him in person.

In my mind, this "piece" wasn't meant to be married to be just about this individual. I had of course, started it out of my rush of explosive feelings about wanting to bond with my late great-grandfather but it continued to be an account of more. If I had a particularly fun banter with my father, that would find lines attributed to it. Whenever I would have an emotional discovery about myself, it would find its place in it. My mother's special random confessions about how she would remember me as a baby would be a section of the verbal hugs. Any friend or crush who had said or done something that completely took me by surprise would find my hearts capture in it. All that said, it wasn't a journal either. I wasn't sharing day-to-day events and memories.

It was snapshots..snapshots of what I experienced about that individual or a moment with them. Or, even sometimes witnessing something moving like a baby elephant running in the middle of a parade. My heart would explode with so much love on the thought of how adored a baby elephant is in its family. Carefree, innocent and pure - and protected running carefree and unaware of its strength in the middle of the family. Or a song I have always listened to, as a child till now and just beginning to see its wonder. An author who I have read all my life, but suddenly her work seems to form a deeper connection as I stumble upon the beauty in the thought of "overcoming your fears requires you to be able to laugh at them" conveyed in the most childlike and yet staggeringly accurate "ridikulous" way. All random, yet there is a common thread.

My first written piece started giving back even before I completed it. It made me realize the love I have for telling as well as hearing stories. After three decades of my life, this simple truth hasn't changed. All of these pickings have found their place in this. Over the years I have written variations of this, some with refined articulation, others still with the broken sentences and the incorrect grammar but every time, unfailingly, with its heart in place.