Having said that, I do still remember seeing my mum reading and sometimes writing, and I must say that her will power was extraordinary since she learnt how to write and read in her 30s. So now I have come to realize that I inherited my passion for reading and writing from my mother. She died without knowing the legacy she left me in that regard.
My childhood games did not have anything to do with toys, football, baseball or any other games that are usually practiced by boys. My favorite game was the one where I would pretend I was a teacher, or lecturer. It was a fascinating scenario for me, pretending that I was the one who was able to teach others. It was like an orgasmic experience to be able to teach a group of people that, of course, it only existed in the depths of my own imagination. Sometimes I would even forget to eat because I was too busy playing at being 'the teacher'.
My mother was very supportive, and my first blackboard was made by her. It was a square piece of thick board which she had painted with a black oiled-based paint. Oh my god, I still vividly remember it. I would spend hours and hours writing on my nice blackboard, teaching subjects to all those pupils that only existed in my head. I was so proud of that blackboard because everything I wrote on it, with my white chalk, looked absolutely fantastic...to me!
I have to say, all these experiences were very valuable because they were the beginning of my passion for reading and writing. It also helped to develop my imagination and inspiration to be able to put things down in writing whatever came to my mind, in a simple, but innocent way. What a beautiful childhood I had!
It is lovely now to make this account of my intellectual childhood, because it is giving me the opportunity to reiterate that I do know who I am deep down inside of me. I feel that I am basically a writer. Passion that I have put aside for a number of years, but I am happy to realize that I now know that I will spen the rest of my life...writing, as I did when I was a little boy.
I think, and feel, that writing is in itself - or at least for me - is a therapeutic experience. It's a moment when all our senses are activated and become themselves the vessel for every word and every phrase to fly, to flow, to be alive. It seems that words have a life of their own, words that can be transcendental depending on the passion you put into them
Writing - and again at least for me - is like penetrating into a large and never ending tunnel, but a clear, bright tunnel, full of magic and beautiful imaginary places to get to. A magical moment where the most important things are the imagination - me - the piece of paper, or laptop, and every single written word for people to read at any given moment. Wow...this is a fascinating explanation!
I have so many times entered that tunnel, but I must confess, sometimes I regret not having enough time that writing requires, and I have to say, that now I am growing older, that need for writing is becoming like a physical, emotional, and intellectual need, and these reasons explains why Marlife was created.
I would love to enter that tunnel and spend hours, days, and months, writing about life, love, feelings and emotions. Writing messages that in any way could make a contribution to other peoples' lives, but more importantly, to my own life. Messages that will allow me to become a better person, a better human being. Messages that could spread love and the transformations that come along with that. This is my mission, my task, and it is something I will try to continue doing until the last day of my life. I would love people to realize, through my writing, that one day I existed and that I left a significant mark in this world. Thank you for reading and supporting Marlife!