I was sold without even knowing I was buying.
It’s been awhile but I use to write. A lot actually. I remember coming home and sitting directly on the computer chair. Where in front of this giant tube screen, I powered up the tower by hitting the illuminated green button. Which at the time could have circumferenced my thumb, twice over. For hours I would type away clever (or more like cheesy) little lines that I thought sounded well together. It was like, I, romeo in the story, courting Juliet with letters I only put on my AIM Away Messages.
Cool was I? I practically convinced myself I had the lyrics to the next R&B hit you’d stay up listening to, talking on the phone till 6am.
Middle school, where it all started. My older cousin Jocelyn would recite poems and spoken word pieces to her friends with guitars strumming from behind at our family parties. “The big kid room,” where I swore I was cool enough to sit in and act the mature age of 11, where you think you already know it all.. (they knew what I was doing.) But I was interested. Open ears and a hungry mind kept me around.
She spoke in such a way that drew her listeners as if hypnotized.. but with smiles on their faces. She sold them. Without them even knowing they were buying. They loved every word. Her syntax was captivating. I looked around and saw all of this and I wanted that. I wanted to do that.
In homeroom class one day during 7th grade, My teacher Mr. Teñada, a filipino american raised gentlemen to whom I now owe a lot to, taught us a weekly assignment of something he called, “Show not tell.” We were told to write a story, with descriptions on the subject.. metaphors, adjectives, “color the story,” he explained. So I did.
One of the first times, I made up a story about how my Mom and I went to a hill and watched the sunset for my first time from a view point. I ended the paragraph with “She asked me what I thought. I didn’t tell her anything, my face explained it all.” Just about every Friday for the rest of the school year, my pieces were the ones he read out loud to the class.. from then on flattered, I knew I had something going.
I was in a ‘relationship’ with a girl named Jenelle at the time. If you’re reading this and know her, ask her.. it was theeeeee most text book, puppy loved, adolescent infatuation you could think of. I even carved her name in wood as a project in front of everyone during workshop…. *enter laughing emoji here*
Later breaking my heart (or what I thought it was at the time) only fed my expressions in my stories and actually inspired me to write more. Highschool came along and I entered poetry slams. Open mics with acoustics.. then eventually found my own style of “Floetry.” To this day I remember pieces I use to perform out in San Francisco and such with friends of mutual likings. “A Minds Infatuation” or, “This is my day,” just to name a few.
It was a passion of mine. And not buried but put away for awhile till need for use, it still is. My passion. Writing. Poetry. The use of the english language to put a smile on someones face.. Is why I wrote. Now don’t come up and ask me to help you with your math homework, with that I’ve rendered myself useless. haha :)
But now, today.. I’ve come along a different passion that’s rapidly grown on me in the past 3 months. Photography. If you’ve been seeing my MANY (sorry) posts, I like it. But this subject.. Could use a whole nother’ story. Gnite