The Element of Discovering Yourself Through Writing and Its Hope for Learning About Life

In the garden of my childhood home was a guava tree. For years, it did not produce any fruit. Then suddenly one year, there were guavas on the tree. Urchins ran into our cul de sac to steal guavas from our tree.

When I think of my writing, I think of myself as that guava tree. For years (and years), I was not able to produce anything. Then suddenly in December of 2010 something stirred.  I was able take up my pen again and start this blog.

What happened to me in those barren years when I could not write? I am not sure, but I have learned something from that time.  I have learned even if there is a long gap when you do not do something, if you start again, you can quickly get back in the groove. I made this happy discovery when I got back into writing again.

Writing is filled with discovery.

I made the first discovery at the age of 7, when I started writing.

The first discovery I made was that love can make a fool of us at any age.

I Love Sammy

An American missionary family had moved into a house in our lane. The family had 5 boys, the youngest of whom was an endearing and impish 9 year old called Sammy. My sisters and I would go over to play at their house.  We especially liked to jump on their trampoline.

Soon my 7 year old heart was bursting with a secret I could not keep just in my head anymore. “I love Sammy”, I wrote on a scrap of paper. The note was discovered and merciless teasing followed.

Love had made a fool of my young heart.

My next discovery was that not everything one sees should be written about.

A Kiss is just a Kiss. Or Not

I used to be taken to the movies.

When the kissing scenes came on, I was made to cover my eyes.

Perhaps, I peeped.

Perhaps by the time I was told to cover my eyes, I had already seen too much.

One of my sisters met the love of her life, and started dating. Soon after, these words mysteriously appeared on a wall of our house, “I saw X kissing X”.

There was a scolding. The words were hurriedly removed from the wall. I learned not everything we see should be written about.

Go Straight to Jail.  Don’t Pass Go

The next discovery I made was actually about signatures.

In 4^th grade, homework was assigned to us in a special book called a homework diary. Every day, before school ended, the teacher would write our homework on the blackboard. We would copy out the homework in our homework diaries.  When we got home, we were supposed to show the homework diary to our parents and get their signature on it.

I decided it was best for all concerned, if I signed the homework diary myself, and not show it to my mum.

When my teacher realized I was doing this, she hauled me to the principal. One of my older sisters was summoned. The principal wagged her finger at me and told me what I had done was a forgery. She said grown-ups could go to jail for doing that. “We must give her an appropriate punishment so she learns not to do this again” said the principal.  “You will stay after school and write the following sentence 100 times:  “I will not copy any one’s signature.”  “I will not copy any one’s signature.” “I will not copy any one’s signature.” Got that? ” I got that.

Glory Days

Then glory days started. I learned I could write something and it could bring me glory. The SPCA held a state-wide essay contest for elementary school students.  The topic was “My Pet”. I won 2^nd place in my age group.  Nobody was expecting this, least of all me. I didn’t have any experience with a pet. Yet I was able to write from imagination and win.  I was thrilled.  My family was thrilled. I felt like a mini celebrity. There was one less than bright moment connected with this win. The school was worried I would come shabbily dressed to the awards ceremony. I understood this, when they sent a note home with me a few days before the ceremony. It said “When your child comes to the awards ceremony, please make sure she is in a clean well pressed uniform, her shoes are polished and her hair is neatly brushed and plaited.”

The Power of Words

Winning the My Pet essay contest was the beginning of my love for everything and anything connected with words.  By the time I was a teen, books and words had become my life. My family noticed and encouraged this. They introduced me to the British Council library, and got me a membership there – one of the greatest gifts they could give me. That, and a Scrabble game for one of my birthdays.  

The Not So Fun Teen Years

I entered my teen years hopelessly shy, and tongue-tied in the presence of company. I preferred writing to speaking, and I had to fall back on my writing again and again to make any kind of impression on anybody. My writing-centered life led me down some creative paths and some rabbit holes. One of the rabbit holes was developing a one-sided crush on somebody.  When I couldn’t hold back my feelings, I wrote a long impassioned letter and mailed it.  I regretted this instantly.  If you express your feelings to someone verbally, they can stop you after you utter the first foolish sentence.  Send a letter, however, and you have given them pages of utter foolishness to read.  I could not look this person in the eye for a long, long time.

The Big Words Phase

Then there was the Big Words phase. This was another rabbit hole. Mangaloreans tend to use big words, but they can still be understood, when they talk or speak.  I went through a writing phase, when I cared little whether I was understood.  All I wanted to do was please myself with my impressive vocabulary. I now have a theory about why I was doing that. Anyway, I had 3 sisters away at college, and I bombarded them with letters filled with exotic, unfamiliar and foreign-sounding words. I was put in my place when one of them wrote to my mom and said, “We don’t understand a word of Minoo's letters.”

The Light at The End Of the Tunnel

Then I discovered I could submit unsolicited articles to newspapers and magazines. This is when I stopped being a nuisance, and began to do something useful with my writing.  I wrote humorous middles, skits, children’s stories, essays, and sent them off. Some of these submissions were accepted and published.  Also, around that time, our friend Janet taught me and my brother David the rudiments of the guitar.  I began to compose songs in my spare time, writing my own lyrics and music, taping myself with a cassette tape recorder.  This music phase lasted 3-5 years. Between the compositions, and the writing, and the English language lessons I gave foreign students, I was able to keep my mind off the one thing I was supposed to be doing that I was not doing - attending college.

Love Stories

Plato said, “At the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet ”. Though I was often in tears about my personality problems, and being able to write and not speak, I found love.  Though it was not everlasting love, each time I found it, it felt like true love, and I was inspired.  I expressed my feelings through cards - Hallmark type cards with poems and puns and jokes – that I would create myself. This led one boyfriend to say to me, “Minoo, you should think about becoming a copywriter”.  I remember asking him what he meant. He pointed to a billboard and told me copywriters did that. I said, “I would sure like to do that.” Little did I know, within a matter of years, I would be interviewed for a copywriting job, get accepted, and start writing for a living.

Writing For a Living

What was it like to write for a living? With every campaign I wrote, I felt my credibility (and reason for living) was on the line. I wanted my work to be the silver bullet – I wanted the target customer to drop everything for the product I was working on, I wanted to make the consumer open her or his wallet, I wanted to make them a loyal fan for life. But I was to learn that just because you want something badly doesn’t mean it will happen. When I ran Purple Patch, I did a direct mail campaign for a client who was holding a garment show. Very few people turned up at the show and she sold almost nothing.  I got a massive headache from it.

The Case for America

When I decided I wanted to move to America, I wrote impassioned letters to my sisters to sponsor me.  They tried to dissuade me, believing in their hearts I would have a hard time in America and would not get the lucky breaks I had experienced in India.  I exchanged several letters with them, and when they realized I would not back down, they caved.  And so here I am.  You know all about the American chapter of my story from this blog.  I got into the SPM field and have been there ever since.

Never Say Never

Eventually, I would learn to conquer my speaking fears at Toastmasters. I completed my 10 CTM speeches, and participated in 3 Toastmaster contests.  I also plucked up the courage to deliver a Money Workshop at an elementary school.  Through this, I learned the wisdom of “Never Say Never”. 

And now here I am, today writing this blog.

Roald Dahl once said, “I don’t care if a reader hates one of my stories, just as long as he finishes the book.”

Thank you for reading to the end of this post. If you are longing to write about your life journey, hopefully you found some inspiration.  You've read my story. I can't wait to read yours.  I will end with a quote I hope will get you going soon, “A bird doesn't sing because it has an answer, it sings because it has a song.”

As always have a great day and week…….M…..a Pearl Seeker like you. Thanks to Ajay and Subhakar for their comments on Facebook and thanks to the rest of you for your votes.