This post is an entry to the latest #untalented contest by 
So, the year is 1988, the month of April in Saudi Arabia where the harsh desert met the ever-living city of Jeddah. In the maternity hallways of a hospital named Bugshan, A father his two daughters and a son share a moment of happiness and tears of joys as they have just been told, ‘’Congratulations he has arrived.’’ Round about 2:30 am Osama Rehman took his first breath and cry.
29 years have passed and I continue to strive to know, to flourish in the mystic knowledge of What is? What was? and What will be? I consider myself a seeker of knowledge, from books, from documentaries most importantly meeting people who have a lager scope on life, greater than the value of riches, their visions surround every atom in the space they go to.
Had a pretty decent upbringing from schooling to spoiling thanks to my father for his hard work and my mother’s dedications. I have usually been socially awkward for as far as I could remember. You know how you hear some people say ‘’ Oh I ran into that guy Osama from Uni! ‘’ I am sure no one ever said that about me because convocation was the last day they saw and took pictures and selfies with that guy. Don’t get me wrong. I love making friends, I just like my circle very close and limited to an amazing few.
Life has played its cards, sometimes rights, something flukes and sometimes draws. With the passage of time as years went by I became quieter, more observant, less talkative and I think a little wiser. I have nag for perfection. I am sure if I go to a therapist I would definitely be diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. So, I put that to the best use, working around the house being handy, updating and upgrading interiors and exteriors. Other times it is more on the lines of detailing the cars in my garage. This is my way of thinking, meditating, dealing with life in my mind while I apply a fresh coat of carnauba wax on a Sunday afternoon, with a cold beer conveniently placed next to a chair on which I go sit and admire the beauty.
Another way of channeling my thoughts, thought processes, ideas and exploring my creativity was when I got into music production. I started off in a study room and converted it into a home music studio, if you are surrounded by musically sound people, and can give them access to a do-to basis of a music studio, you are in for some amazing energies, flows, vibes and projects.
There have been times in life where I was at a decision of whether to stop doing and making music completely and be more corporate focused, but I come back to it every time. I do not know of any expressionism other than music.
Staying humble has its own charm. To some it’s a trait to others it’s a riddle.
Down the line I met someone, someone who read me, someone who found qualities in me that I didn’t know I had, or had names for. I was told that I could be a writer, on the basis alone on the way I described my experiences, ideas, dreams and life in general over a few drinks on a very calm evening. Modesty got the best of me and I shrugged with a smile and the evening went on, so did the music.
I always lagged when it came to reading books or writing. I guess I struggled to find that time frame, that sweet spot in time where it is just you and a book. Writing was nowhere close to be seen. ‘What do I write about’? ‘Who will read it’? Will I have to become a ‘blogger’? What is a blogger? “About yourself! your experiences, your stories, your life!’’ the same voice broke the music laced silence on another calm evening with Jazz and scotch. The same someone then introduced me to #Steemit. Taught me the idea, the concept. It took me a while to figure it out and it was not long after that I wrote my Introduction post.
It’s interesting how I never discovered writing all my life and when I discovered it, #Steemit was the recipient of my first written words. Sounds like a good start to me! What do you think?
#Steemit with its wide array of audience makes rookie writers like myself get a chance of being read. Gives me a chance to share the stories and experiences not only to a closed group of people that I sit with, but also to perhaps someone sitting on the other side of the globe, someone I do not know but can inspire through my words, or even just maybe make someone laugh and find their escapism in my art. And in the event of all of this if discover myself and make money on the side, all I can say is that my readers and followers are generous people. I do not make it happen, they do.
A few weeks later...
Thank you someone (you know who you are,will always be), Steemit and the people of Steemit.
