Writing has always been a passion of mine. Since childhood, I used to write little story notes. In diaries. In my own notebooks. But as I grew older, I started doing other tasks more often. After many years, I remember that when I reached the ninth grade, I felt a strong urge to start writing again in full swing. And I did. Then, after the school exams, I began my “Peace Family” story. Little by little, I started creating the plot of the story. I remember preparing this story’s plot with someone very close to me. From choosing each character’s name to creating their biographies.
She was the one who first saw my world into words.
Now, it is just a memory. It was my juvenile phase. Yet, whenever I think of those days, it still gives me a thrill. On some weary afternoons, when I look at the sky through my window, it feels like everything is happening right in front of my eyes. It seems like just the other day during spring, I was spending all day creating the plot of the story. She was there.
Those days I used to believe that I would need to proofread my story. But I never felt like doing it. Naturally, after writing something, I could never bring myself to read it again. I remember my friend would sit down to proofread my jumbled writings. I believed only she could do it. She was the only one who knew the plot of my story. Many days passed after that. I haven’t written for a long time. College and university kept us all busy. We were all moving along in our lives. Life went on as usual.
Then, one bright morning, I slowly started returning to my old world of words… My story plot… Peace Family.
I was nothing. I know and truly believe this. The plot and characters of her world of words were a hundred times stronger. When we would talk about stories without even writing them down, I would be amazed by the way she navigated her world of words. My stories were not so significant like her Yet, she would listen to my stories with such attention and focus.
I was so lucky to have such a friend in my life. Like a sister.
I can still vividly see the memories of the Lotus from her world. The way she described it made me feel as if I was walking there myself, as if everything was happening right before my eyes.
Even though I used to describe my “peace family” to her.
Then for many days, I have been writing those. They were not heard, nor were they shown to her. Because our paths had diverged by then.
Life was going…
But these days, I feel suffocated when morning comes, as usual, when I start to write my words.
It feels much easier to look at the sky outside the window.
It feels easier to love the reality of pale blue.
Who are we?