When I was a little girl, all I wanted to be was a big grown up woman; living life by myself. Oddly enough, unlike girls my age I never pictured myself with family, husband or kids. All I dreamt of was a house on a hill, surrounded by thick and dark green jungle, wet with pouring rain and overlooking snow clad mountains far north. Some place in middle of nowhere ; a pretty complicated imagination for a six year old I guess.
Today, I got hold of this diary of mom which she used to jot down recipes upon and guess what I found- a page long scribble of gibberish with a note signed at the end in illegible handwriting : I want to grow up and write songs. More songs and better ones.
And half way through growing up I suddenly realise today that it wasn't a random choice. My love for reading and consequently writing is not a whim or fancy of mine. It goes back to a time I don't even myself have the capacity to recall. Perhaps that is exactly why I am so in love with scribbling.
As far as writing goes. I'll do that someday. Someday when I am grown up and have a house up on the hill. Till then, I'll prefer scribbling.
