Imagine your childhood room… Do you remember how messy it could get? I don’t know how many times my mum threatened to hoover up all my stuff if I didn’t tidy it away. The thing is, believe it or not, I really knew my mess. My mess was my order. I had all my stuff on display and I never lost track of what was part of this abstract gallery. My childhood room is my head. Anyone else entering would think it is a labyrinth of unresolved mess. Which might be the case too… However, like my childhood room; I know my mess! I have always had a loud imagination that I believe is the cause of my artistic order. There is no creativity behind a blank canvas, so splash those beautiful colours of yours out on the floor, and let your brain cells roll happily around in it! It’s your room after all.
I have a dream (said with the soundtrack of Martin Luther)… This dream is something I have wanted to do since my first introduction to literature. I want to write a book. I said it, I want to write a book!
I have been thinking about this for a while now, and this trip has given me the quality time I needed to give myself permission to actually start sharing my mess. This book will be another confirmation of how messed up my childhood room is. I can’t believe I am actually writing this on my blog… For 20 years this has been a secret I haven’t shared with anyone.
I was sitting at one of the nicest hotels in Panglao, Bohol in the Philippines. I was lucky to be invited to experience the luxury at the Regents Park Resort. With the sound of Toby’s feet splashing in the picturesque pool, and the straw flirting with the ice cubes in my umbrella drink, I was suddenly lost in my own room. The mess was spinning around me, the organised mess was no longer organised. It was just… mess. That was when I knew it was about time to tidy my shit.
So while I’m being pampered like the spoiled brat I am at the Regents Park my less luxurious childhood room is slowly turning into an office. Flying papers and the tapping of fingers over a keyboard have taken over the space. Am I being silly? Am I being unrealistic? Should some dreams just stay dreams? I don’t know…
Quote Of The Day:
“Writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia.”
― E.L. Doctorow