As a young girl, I didn't speak a lot. I appreciated silence and I understood that there are things that shouldn't be said. I was also immersed in my world where I learned to handle my thoughts rather than to bother anyone else with them. Besides, I preferred listening.
To someone like me, it was hard to open up to those even closest to me about how I really felt. But when things got intense, I needed to get them out though I couldn't say it. I couldn't shout and I didn't want to hurt anyone.
So I wrote.
One day, when I was about eight, I left a letter for my Dad to find. There, I begged him to stop smoking. He wasn't getting any younger and I saw how easily exhausted he was. To little Pollen, the thought of losing a father hurt so much and writing that letter made her feel that it would change everything for him.
I didn't receive a reaction from him the next day but I knew that he read it since the letter disappeared from the table.
That evening, my mom approached me, telling me that dad showed her the letter. She told me how proud she was of me for writing it and how she'll keep the letter in her novena booklet.
Sure, my dad didn't stop then and there but I'd like to think my letter made a difference.
You see, writing literally is my voice. It was, then, the only way I could give anyone a peep of what's inside. And now, though I've learned to break out of my shell, the things I write still represent deeper truths about myself.
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TumugonBurahin