THE WORDS I CANNOT SAY.

“What are you placing an order for?” Dad asked flipping through the channels.

“I’m pre-ordering a book.” I replied with a huge grin.

“A book?” he looked at me, annoyed. “Is it another one of those stupid fictions you read?”

My smile faded as I blankly stared at his angry expression.

 

“These fiction books aren’t going to get you anywhere. Stop reading them, start reading biographies and guidance books not silly stories people write. It’s not going to teach you anything in life.”

I wanted to say ” You’re right. They probably aren’t going to get me anywhere but they’ll let me imagine, look at the world through another person’s  perspective and more importantly create a vision in my head. They aren’t silly stories people write, If given a pen I don’t think you’d be able to write more than a sentence. You’re wrong about them not teaching me anything, They have taught me to be creative. To use my imagination and explore. Biographies and Guidance books are going to tell me about how a person lived, the ‘great’ things they did, the problems they faced and the lessons they learned, So basically I’m just reading about a ‘great’ person who is trying to teach me about life and its great difficulties but shouldn’t we figure it out on our own? Shouldn’t we make our own mistakes and learn from them?” But I kept my words and tears in and hung my head low, the way people do when they are ashamed of something but it wasn’t something to be ashamed of.

 

 

“The book you’re writing? It’s fiction, isn’t it?” he said with a disgusted tone “Stop writing. It’s a waste of time, won’t get you anywhere in life. What’s it going to give you ? Nothing.”

I stared at the floor with tears rolling down my cheeks. I was furious yet could not say a word in my defense. I wanted to scream “It’s going to give me inner satisfaction. Writing makes me happy, it lets me express myself, it calms me down but you wouldn’t understand that. My interest and passion is different from yours. We aren’t the same people and you need to understand that.” but I didn’t.

 

 

 

I looked at my mom with a pleading look hoping at least she’d understand what I want to say but she never did.

She said with a stern look. “Listen to your father, he knows what’s right. How about you read the books in his shelf? They’ll teach you about life.”

Well, looks like everyone wants to change my choice. I don’t mind reading the kind of books they want me to but that’s not the kind I like. And I as an individual have my own likes and dislikes and they must respect that.

I turned around saying I had something really important to do instead of telling them my point of view. There was a lot I wanted to say but all I could do was tell myself that someday I’ll say the words I can’t say.