It is weird. The art of writing to me is weird. Our magazine distributing manager just asked me to quickly add up 179 and 38. He was on the phone. I got so lost. I tried to do it on paper, the way I was taught to do so in primary school and it used to be really easy but I got stuck. I even tried to do it mentally. Seriously, why do I even try? I ended up using the calculator on my mobile and I was almost too scared to reply 217 because I couldn't trust myself, mostly, I couldn't trust the numbers.
But numbers are weirder. Every single time someone speaks number and asks me to subtract and add to it, divide it, multiple it or deduct how much a dress would cost after 40% discount, I won't be able to do it. That frown on my face would have been much happier if I didn't start to go all blank and the life in my eyes go travelling miles to that day in maths class, my teacher looking at me, straight in the eye with a mixed look of hope and a look of sad lost, just like a lighted wick on a windy day. I had scored 2/100 for the paper. I always think of that day and I always speak of that day to anyone and everyone who asks me why I am so horrible in that subject. I lost faith in the beauty of numeric and I just got stuck in time. I would agree with all those who support the ideology of not getting graded. I was a maturing-by-the-second fourteen-year-old woman, extremely studious and extremely hyper. Now eight years on, I still haven't been able to get over it. It has scarred me for life. I am not proud to say this but I have always failed mathematics except for that final mathematics paper I sat for during my 'O' Level examination. With months and months of focusing on the subject, neglecting the rest because I needed a passing mark on it to get into the junior college of my choice, I circled in just right.
Writing, now that is an entire different ball game altogether. Maybe, it is snobbish of me to say this myself but its innate or maybe, it isn't because which 'writer' has taken hours of classes for the said? I was every English teacher's pet without trying, except for my 'O' Level year English teacher who somehow hated me for my guts and of course he would, his name was Mr. Choi and one day at class, I accidentally shouted 'Ah, choi ah choi!!!' when someone said something inauspicious and the entire classes were in roars of laughter while I sat there, my brain working half a minute too slow. I wish I hadn't because he made every 40 minutes of his class pretty hellish for me. Like Nepalis' 'tuu tuu', 'choi choi' means the same in one particular Chinese dialect. He probably on purpose gave me red marks for his own indulgence of hatred towards me because I ended up getting an A in the end. Just saying how great I actually am...
Carrying on with all the self-gloating, writing just happened to me out of the blue one day. Getting good grades without studying to actually getting paid for something I didn't have to think about to get done, something that I absolutely, without a shadow of doubt enjoy doing, I am just rolling around in glee. I wish Mr. Choi could come find me now, I would offer him a cup of milk tea. Now, the inferiority complex is something that I always struggle with but at the end of the day, I remind myself that I am not writing for anyone other than myself and my editors (because, I am human and I need a steady salary). My goal at the end of the day is personal satisfaction with the work I produce as should be the goal of everyone, in all misery. Although, certain writings might make sense to only me, I am happiest when I put the final full-stop on my last sentence in every of my write-up, irrespective of whether they get published or not.
The idea of blogging is initiated because lady needs to be paid to put hand to mouth. I need my mint! Besides, I have too many word files on my C drive (yes, IT nerd, I should put all files in D drive so it doesn't affect the full functional capacity of my laptop), so it is better to just put it out on the internet for the world to see, my main focus being my future editors and for my unpublished works because I worked hard enough for it, and because someone who means a little something to me told me, 'Look, these folder of things which you have not so aptly titled 'CRAP' deserves more than just your pair of eyes. OPEN UP A FUCKING BLOG, you are crazy enough to write weird stuffs people don't usually write, you should be crazy enough to keep up with it. Enough with your laziness, enough with your stuck-up attitude!' And so, this blog is dedicated to the readers who I bestow the full liberty to tell me I am just a cocky writer full of myself, that I am not even a writer at all and to the readers who loves me as much as they would love to hate me.
Hearts,
Genisha
But numbers are weirder. Every single time someone speaks number and asks me to subtract and add to it, divide it, multiple it or deduct how much a dress would cost after 40% discount, I won't be able to do it. That frown on my face would have been much happier if I didn't start to go all blank and the life in my eyes go travelling miles to that day in maths class, my teacher looking at me, straight in the eye with a mixed look of hope and a look of sad lost, just like a lighted wick on a windy day. I had scored 2/100 for the paper. I always think of that day and I always speak of that day to anyone and everyone who asks me why I am so horrible in that subject. I lost faith in the beauty of numeric and I just got stuck in time. I would agree with all those who support the ideology of not getting graded. I was a maturing-by-the-second fourteen-year-old woman, extremely studious and extremely hyper. Now eight years on, I still haven't been able to get over it. It has scarred me for life. I am not proud to say this but I have always failed mathematics except for that final mathematics paper I sat for during my 'O' Level examination. With months and months of focusing on the subject, neglecting the rest because I needed a passing mark on it to get into the junior college of my choice, I circled in just right.
Writing, now that is an entire different ball game altogether. Maybe, it is snobbish of me to say this myself but its innate or maybe, it isn't because which 'writer' has taken hours of classes for the said? I was every English teacher's pet without trying, except for my 'O' Level year English teacher who somehow hated me for my guts and of course he would, his name was Mr. Choi and one day at class, I accidentally shouted 'Ah, choi ah choi!!!' when someone said something inauspicious and the entire classes were in roars of laughter while I sat there, my brain working half a minute too slow. I wish I hadn't because he made every 40 minutes of his class pretty hellish for me. Like Nepalis' 'tuu tuu', 'choi choi' means the same in one particular Chinese dialect. He probably on purpose gave me red marks for his own indulgence of hatred towards me because I ended up getting an A in the end. Just saying how great I actually am...
Carrying on with all the self-gloating, writing just happened to me out of the blue one day. Getting good grades without studying to actually getting paid for something I didn't have to think about to get done, something that I absolutely, without a shadow of doubt enjoy doing, I am just rolling around in glee. I wish Mr. Choi could come find me now, I would offer him a cup of milk tea. Now, the inferiority complex is something that I always struggle with but at the end of the day, I remind myself that I am not writing for anyone other than myself and my editors (because, I am human and I need a steady salary). My goal at the end of the day is personal satisfaction with the work I produce as should be the goal of everyone, in all misery. Although, certain writings might make sense to only me, I am happiest when I put the final full-stop on my last sentence in every of my write-up, irrespective of whether they get published or not.
The idea of blogging is initiated because lady needs to be paid to put hand to mouth. I need my mint! Besides, I have too many word files on my C drive (yes, IT nerd, I should put all files in D drive so it doesn't affect the full functional capacity of my laptop), so it is better to just put it out on the internet for the world to see, my main focus being my future editors and for my unpublished works because I worked hard enough for it, and because someone who means a little something to me told me, 'Look, these folder of things which you have not so aptly titled 'CRAP' deserves more than just your pair of eyes. OPEN UP A FUCKING BLOG, you are crazy enough to write weird stuffs people don't usually write, you should be crazy enough to keep up with it. Enough with your laziness, enough with your stuck-up attitude!' And so, this blog is dedicated to the readers who I bestow the full liberty to tell me I am just a cocky writer full of myself, that I am not even a writer at all and to the readers who loves me as much as they would love to hate me.
Hearts,
Genisha
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