If I were to tell you what my childhood was like it would seem whimsical, unreal in sight of how children grow up these days.
We spent our summer holidays exploring the parks and down by the River Thames, a place I knew like the back of my hand. I’d walk for miles, daily, because there was never fear of harm or injury, unless self-inflicted. And there were many self inflicted hurts.
I loved walking in the rain, arriving home with soaking wet socks, my hair a tangle, and my face running with rain water.
I remember reading everything I could get my hands on, and spent more time in the small school library than anywhere. I devoured books, if that was a thing, ate them, spat them out and ate them again. I loved to write too, stretching my imagination to the limit with short stories and poems that no one read but me and my teachers.
Of the two loves in my life, art and books, one had never been the victor of the other… until now. Now writing is everything I have, everything I imagined it to be and more. My mind is ablaze with unwritten stories, my fingers itch to write the words and fill the blank pages. I have been blessed through this journey to meet many kindred spirits, some good and some not so good, but all have taught me something.
For me, a girl born in the 1960’s to immigrant parents, I am happy that I achieved educational goals, studying the History of Art & Archaeology at Uni of London, My family uplifted me, and I will always be grateful for that, and more.
Some of those I loved the most are no longer here, and I remember them daily, rejoice for having known them and keep the memories of them close. Isn’t that what family should do?
So, as I turn pages on this journey, I’d like to welcome you to join me, for as long as you are able, and explore with me, as I Change My World, One Story At A Time.
Come find me on Goodreads.