Ever since I can remember, I had a special connection with words. As a child I mastered the art of holding a pen, it was my wand, I felt empowered, happy, free, liberated, every time I wrote. I wrote poems, reflections, visions, stories, I even wrote glimpses of my future. Yes I did. At that time, I had never heard of a dream board.
Although one might argue a future is but a destiny. For me, the future was my destination. I loved mythology, fairy tales, and adventure… so I wrote my future with hope, and lots of expected adventure and learnings, but as a writer, I forgot or maybe I intended to keep an open ending.
Looking back today, I found out I had a really special power, writing my destiny, and as time went by, I realised so many details prevailed, whether it was my travels, my encounters or my achievements. You see, I had a magical childhood living with my Grandmother, she meant the world to me. She inspired me. Our house was surrounded with beautiful gardens, luscious rose bushes, dreamy escape paths leading to mystic places in the forest. The forest was a great escape, a wonderment, my great place of exploration. Whether it was the different types of flowers, species of insects and animals that each had shown differently throughout the seasons. My Grandmother always told me “don’t go too far” and far I went, knowing that I was protected from anything that I might encounter. Living with my Grandmother was a blessing, she was the most loving, genuine, generous, adorable, eccentric, beautiful queen. She was my queen! And when her sisters visited, it was so much fun, I felt they were like the 3 beautiful fairies.
My Grandmother’s house was in the forest. It was a very big house adorned by pine trees, and my ancestors spirits. Our bedroom had a pink light, it felt so safe and cosy at night. As I grew older, I wanted to follow the trends of sticking posters of my favourite artists on the walls, and my Grandmother never said no. So there hung my favourite artist of the time George Michael, as I played his songs on repeat day and night, and that never bothered my Grandmother, I even think she became a fan too!
Did I mention, our weekend rituals of turning the kitchen into a culinary journey? We experimented with new flavours, and new recipes,,flour dust sprinkled across the white marble table top and our laughs echoed across the house as we tried and tested our culinary skills. She was an amazing chef, no one will ever be able to beat her food! I miss the taste of those Sunday family brunches, barbecues, lunches and breakfasts that lasted until dinner. We all marvelled those days when over 20 people joined her festive Sundays, enjoying every aspect of her generosity and culinary art.
The playdates on the terrace, were a pure joy. The whole space was stacked with bikes, books, mini cars, dolls, and lots of yummy snacks. My friends never wanted to leave, when their parents came to pick them up.
Each room had its own character, its special flavour, and its unique colors. Every day, was a new day, and a learning voyage in this multidimensional sanctuary. I remember the huge library, the grand stereo with hundreds of oldie tapes and vinyls that belonged to my mom, aunt and uncle, the candy box, oh that famous purple McCintosh tin box. The library, was my lens of literature, my fairytales, documentaries, stories, fiction and non fiction, and the endless encyclopaedia, my source of exploring science and the world as I munched on those salted caramel toffees probably leaving one or two to surprise my Grandmother as she offered candy for her guests.
When you walked through the corridor past my uncle’s room, you were met with literature, magazines, journals, post it notes, the smell of newspapers and heaps of endless books, it really felt like the world is much bigger than “the world” with such endless knowledge that definitely nurtured the mind and proved during different times, we exist in distinct dimensions, and life can also be found in other universes, or so I believed.
I was lucky enough to travel with my Grandmother too, we went Island hopping in Greece, we travelled to London which by the way was her favourite city and always dreamt of owning a home there. My Grandmother was an avid traveler, she visited Brazil, UK, Greece, she wanted to travel more, but her duties restricted her as she also managed her finances, properties, seasonal crops and took care of all the family.
My diary was colorful, adventurous, loving, dreamy, very much influenced by my childhood, for my grandmother taught me that “if you closed your eyes and imagined what you wanted, the universe will see it and will give it to you, but most importantly she told me to be honest, and be full of good deeds.” My future embraced my dreams as wish after wish days unveiled my happy reality. I skipped writing the ending, I missed envisioning the last phases of my story, though I expected my life to continuously unfold into a happy and fulfilled time as I grew through my adventures, until it reached a certain phase and all those dreams, visions and hopes got blocked.
It felt that my diary had failed me and my life that was perfectly outlined and drawn got out of control when I had the future forecasted, defined, rendered, established and synchronised with my story.
This was the past. I was grateful for it, but I wanted to control what’s next, or at least draw the following story.
It was the writer’s block that had hit me. It hit me so strong, that my craft was out of order, my wand was covered with dust, and my life halted as I grew older. I tried to fight time, begged the universe for another chance before it was too late. I kept asking myself, how can I fix the ending?
As a child, I believed the universe was my canvas, I used my words to draw the pictures of my existence, my future and my life. Little by little, time started showing me it’s dark side and as it passed by it took the shine of the magic I could create.
Where was I wrong, who did I hurt, doesn’t the law of the universe say you get what you give back? Didn’t my Grandmother teach me the law of good deeds? Was it that I intended to leave my story to freely write its remaining chapters that I missed a truth or I opened the space for unwanted experiences of undesirable outcomes?
What was the truth? Who was to blame? While I am aged by wisdom, I now believe that I should have continued carving the rest of my story down with my pen as the words fly from my mind and vision, they create a reflection and a clear picture for my life to calibrate and design my wishful destiny. The pen knows more what the story will entail. Destiny is written as they say, and the hint is, it is in your hands.
Anything can be designed by words, whether it is a vision, a feeling, an image, a sense, a person, life, joy, sadness, anything and everything can be expressed by words. But putting those words together and composing a story, a statement, a sentence is magic and unless you were touched by angels, believed in fairies, lived a pink life with your queen Grandmother, you wouldn’t dare dream to write in such an honest way, better yet, have the courage and faith to start all over again. For she always told me, “don’t go too far”, I will never stop, even beyond that full stop.
In loving memory of my Queen Grandmother Eugenie who’s love is eternal and our connection is never ending. Until we meet again.