What’s the colour of your sky?
Are you the main character of the story which you call “my life?”
If you say yes, then you probably already know what I am about to say.
If not, then please bear with me.
As cliché as it may sound, each of us is born with a gift. The gift I’m talking about is more of a personal gift rather than anything tangible, which cannot be measured by the admiration or opinions of others.
This gift I am talking about is something that is centred within you; born from you and whose continuity depends on no one else but you. And if you don’t know what your gift is, it is possibly because you have not met that magical part of you yet.
Do I know what my gift is?
Well, I hope so.
My untameable hunger for penning imaginary worlds should be a gift. I say “hunger” for it never stops, but only keeps growing and becoming more insatiable.
My favourite thing about writing is the limitlessness and freedom it offers me. The more I write, the more interesting everything around me becomes. It is so incredible that behind a voice, a fragrance, or perhaps a taste, we may find thousands of worlds waiting to come alive.
Similar to an archaeologist who is working patiently and delicately to bring dusted artefacts into the sunlight—whatever or whenever you create—you begin to carve what might be only the surface of immense worlds, with immense possibilities.
However, unlike archaeologists, it is totally up to you what those possibilities will be.
In those unique worlds, is there peace? Is there knowledge as well as bigotry?
In my opinion, there is a whole different past and future in those worlds where you are allowed to distort reality however you like. There is a diversity born of us that we are not even aware of.
The more I write, the deeper I dig below under what I call “the surface of all.”
To many people, the process of creating seems and sounds a bit demanding. But everything in life is demanding, isn’t it?
When you make coffee, you pick a coffee cup and wait until your coffee is ready. When you’re invited to a meeting, you make sure that you look nice. My point is that no matter what you do, everything demands your attention in some way.
I think the reason why some of us seem to have difficulty finding our gifts goes hand in hand with our learned thinking. We are a generation who have been systematically subjected to the norm of sameness. We, unfortunately, know what it is like to exist in a society where others’ perception of you matters more than your perception of you.
Do you ever wonder what life would be like if you stopped living up to others’ perception of you, and started being you?
Well, I think I can give you a sneak peek.
Years ago, when I was taking an art class, I was told by my lecturer that I could never paint the sky any other colour than blue. So, I stopped using other colours. When this happened, I was only eight years old, and my imagination was no different than any other child. Raw.
Sadly, following days and years in my life, I was to shape my imagination and choices as I was told. I could no longer paint the sky pink or orange. I could no longer paint a smiling pigeon. And so, the list kept getting longer.
Do you ever wonder why they subject us to a single way of thinking, and then expect us to come up with genius work?
Unaware of the fact that we are all gifted in our own ways, we keep living behind invisible walls that have been built around us.
It is irrational that we are taught to silence the rich choir within us and act, walk, think and create exactly like everyone else. I must say that I started living the most dynamic and, yes, this is who I am, moments of my life right after I released those invisible walls.
I am a daughter, a sister, a friend, a lover, a writer; above all of these, I am happy and aware.
All those worlds I created, which one do I live in?
In all and in none.
What about those characters I crafted? Which one is me?
All and none.
Truth be told, I could wander anywhere and I could be anyone; for I could now paint a purple sky, a forest genie with five eyes, or a flying elephant.
Gifts are sublime. So is the look in the eye of a woman who has released all her inhibitions, and paints her own sky.