Pencil And Me

My childhood days are all heartbreaking to look back at, even until these very days, it has left me deep scars. Unlucky I was, after father passed away when I was only 2 years old, I had been an object to be passed around from one caretaker to another.

What did I know? I was too little then to rationalise what exactly was goin' on around me. All I know I felt so deserted, nowhere to turn to, no such thing as a place of comfort to pamper my feelings and emotions.

Last night I looked into my son's pencil box. All the pencils, some 5 of them apart from the ones still in the box yet to be used stored in the cabinet, were all well maintained and well-looked after (by my wife). What struck me at that moment was, the days I had to make do with a pencil just less than an inch long. Even my small hand, a boy aged 7 couldn't tolerate that short pencil to write. I knew I had to have new pencil but I was so scared to open up my mouth to tell the caretaker that I needed a new one. I was so paranoid over the bad remarks might be thrown at me when I had to tell or ask something, let alone to voice out my frustrations and despair. Based on many occasions before in some other matters, it always end up with me as a little kid just sobbing away in silence until I fall asleep - feeling unsettled until I didn't know what was the meaning of sad. So then with that less than an inch-long pencil, I creatively enxtended with the unused upper part of a pen I found somewhere in the house. Being a kid, I was so happy with the solution I came up on my own.

That's only a small piece of my story. I've been meaning to write more... to be continued!


GAB