My love affair with writing

This is a story of how i discovered the world of reading and writing, it is an honest and open passageway into my life

Since I was a little boy, the world unseen would always serve to mesmerise me. My earliest memories are lying on the grass and looking up at the sky, following the path of the birds with my eyes, amusingly for long periods I was convinced that I saw Spiderman on my neighbour’s roof. My attraction with this world would hit a temporary road block during my early school years. It seemed to me that during this period, memorization, repetition and precision were the only virtues that a child should strive towards. Indeed these virtues were drilled inside my head through a culmination of ramblings from teachers, my peers both in school and around my neighbourhood. 

Let’s bring this back a little, I feel I am coming off as a bit of a radical, let me assure that I am not one. Rules and regulations were always very important to me; I was and remain a stickler    for the law, a serial conformist. I remember that I begun to feel like life was about routine and schedules, something which I would grow to be comfortable with. 

It was not until I read my first ever book, the title of which escapes my mind at the time of writing (inexcusable I am aware), did I feel something change inside of me.  I saw the world in a new light, a light not tainted by judgement or laws of rationale, it was liberating while simultaneously terrifying. 

It’s prudent to conclude that for me it was not just a book, it was not a two hundred page rant by a frustrated writer, it was so much more. This is where my love affair with the written word well and truly started, an affair which only grows stronger every day. 

At this point in time I had become a bit of an addict, exposed to new genres and writing styles I was reading books left, right and centre. Never had I felt happier, felt more at ease with myself, in fact taking the trip with my mom and sister to the book shop was the highlight of my week.  Picking out a book I liked, taking it home and reading it in two hours flat, was an indescribable feeling. I once read a hundred and one books in my summer vacations, to this day I hold as amongst my greatest accomplishments. 

However, there was this little voice inside of me which was of the opinion that writing was an art form only practiced by the most learned, educated and wise. At the risk of coming off as a bit of an snob, I could never dream that anyone from my country could emulate what I read in books by writers belonging to first world countries, all of this however was to change one evening. I vividly remember it being a cool winter night. The ones I enjoy the most, so cold that your teeth chatter and you dig your fingers into your coat pockets in order to seek solace from the harsh weather. I descended into this bookshop; tired of waiting for my mom to be done shopping I figured I might as well browse the shop. It wasn’t the cleanest of places, smelling faintly of seepage, it was safe to say I was not very keen to shop there. The décor wasn’t anything to write home about either, books were lined on two old shelves and another collection was strewn unceremoniously on a nearby table. 

It was complete accident that I came across a book on the table; scanning the mess the name Mohsin Hamid caught my eye in the rubble. It felt quite strange, almost surreal for me to spot a name so familiar, he was a Pakistani, which was frankly the only reason I purchased his book. My interest was piqued not by the story, the cover of the book or the rave reviews that adorned its front; it was solely because I felt an inkling of familiarity when I picked it up. 

Though not regarded as a classic, not spoken in the same breath as works of literature across history, the book holds a very special place in my heart. It was the first time in my life that I acquired the belief that I was capable of doing something, that even I could manage to create something meaningful. It shattered my misconceptions; no longer did I feel that as a Pakistani I was condemned to be a failure in the literary world. It taught me that pieces of art are not bound by arbitrarily defined boundaries; this belief permeated deep inside me and shook me to my core. The book served as a symbol, a symbol that I am not required to live in the shadows of those who I admire. It taught me that literature is blind to prejudice, deaf to intolerance and mute towards bias. 

 It helped ignite newfound confidence, a self belief that i had never felt before, it was the reason that I take writing so seriously. That book, or the author more specifically, is the reason that i no longer view writing only as a hobby. I used to write only during school examinations and assignments, but now i write whenever i have some free time. I attribute all of that to Mohsin Hamid, because his book helped me change a hobby into a passion, it enabled writing to become an obsession.  I now look at authors not only with admiration, but I read their work with the belief that one day I will be able to do the same. 

Author's Note

I would greatly appreciate honest feedback and constructive criticism

Reviews

[TheLastEclipse]

You are an amazing writer. This type of testimonial is beautiful and shows what all writers should feel. I agree in the passion you feel for writing. It is a type of freedom that pinches the soul in the most pleasant way. I, a young man in the southern most part of the United States, have come here from a foreign land and I do know how harsh the world can treat people. I have traveled all of my life and the freedom and rush that writing grants is incomprehensible.

Continue your journey Saher and allow writing to record such a journey. You are a profound artist and write superbly. You have a gift in your passion, my friend. Cheers!

[Iqbal Mirza]

Thank you so much for your kind words, been feeling like im getting nothing out of my writing these days and reading this put a massive smile on my face. Its really nice to hear from someone who shares and understands my love of literature and writing.

[Jennie Baron]

A truly inspiring story. I'm glad you discovered a valuable insight and a source of national pride. Of course literature has (or should have) no boundaries. And I'm glad to discover someone who is so passionate about books. I don't remember when I wasn't constantly reading.

[Iqbal Mirza]

Thank You very much!