Life as it may, is a big learning platform, we come into this world without foremost knowledge and then we learn. From our interests, as a little child, we learn from the environment and parents. We pick up cues, we pick up reflexes, we try to communicate them back. At this point, we really don’t know if they are bad or right, we don’t have moral judgments for it but we keep on.
It makes sense to assume that we learn from people more knowledgeable than us, people that got to live before us and have learnt more. But life as humbly as it is, sometimes teaches us things inwardly, in unexpected ways.
I live with a kid, a girl, who is just 2 years old. She calls me a lot of monikers which I never object to. Of course she is a kid. I love her so much, for so many reasons but more because of her smartness. For a kid of that age, she seems to be doing better than most kids, I will say.
As much as I love her, I also envy her. Funny as it may seem.
Sometimes when she is moody, she whines, cries, and disturbs us in the house. When she does, every adult in her vicinity attends to her. We do so for various reasons.
First, as adults we believe we can take care of whatever she wants.
Secondly, we may not admit it but her whining and crying disturb us a lot and we can’t deal with it. So we have to attend to her and let it suffice.
This vast attention she calls countless times and we are often prickled to look after her as adults.
This is my point of jealousy and envy.
As an adult, no one will bat an eye if I whine and cry.
It’s believed I’m supposed to care for myself; which grownup whines and cries when they need something?
This is why I write. This is why I look after my artist-child.
My adult self has overtime, forgetting who it used to be. I’m lost and can’t remember the pathway. My artist-child serves as a portal, a crying personality in the wilderness of being, which when it cries brings my adult self to attention.
It’s a strenuous exercise, one that needs to be done.
Writing for me has become a way to nurture my artist child back to life, to grow and speak out.
When it speaks, my spirit, my soul and my body pays attention and tries to attend to it but sometimes, they don’t know why to give and how to go about it. Yet this doesn’t stop me from writing, it needs to be done.
Image from my mobile phone
