to write about something

as I grew up, books and stories filled my world. I am lucky enough to have a father that always said, story-telling it is important for a child, he always told one for me every night when I’m ready to bed. His story (always different each night), left me with giggles, thrill and crave for more and more.

it’s about a lady with a horse legs, a battle between ants and tiger, a star in the sky, a boy stealing from his neighbour, a queen that rule a world under the sea, ghost in ancient sword, anything.

As I grew older and too ashamed to ask for a bedtime story, my dad introduce me to the world of fiction novels, I read my first Agatha Christie’s novel in very early age (I even couldn’t remember when). It started with the ABC murders, and then the Sherlock Holmes books. With him, I live in Baker Street and watching him quietly smoke the pipe, and when I’m with Poirot, I stand in an English garden, wondering who killed the rich landlord.

I was hopeless, I read many, many, many detective novels and even read some twice.

It didn’t stop at that, my craving for fiction leds me to possesion of hundreds and hundreds manga comic book. Like most girl, I was swooped by Mari Chan and her silver ballet shoes (I even begged my mom to pay for a ballet class lesson), I was with Aryanrod standing on colloseum on Crystal Dragon, I laugh at joke Nakki told her friends in Pop Corn and cried when Terry left Candy in Candy-Candy.

In junior high school I was the girl with glasses who reads too much fiction. And fiction got better. My manga collection become thousands from hundreds. (Right now, I’m crazy about this funny adventure of a pirate, Luffy, in manga One Piece).

I even got a bookshelves installed just to fill it with books.

I also like myth. call it weird, but I enjoyed reading over and over about greek god and goddess, about why a women can turn into a kuntilanak and the story of a girl with a glass neck. That’s why when my younger sister are old enough to get a bedtime story, I happily do it.

I read from 1001 stories from all over the world; a princess that demands a gown from the ray of sun and the twinkle of stars (imagine how beautiful it will be!!), about a village girl that visited by a prince with an eagle wing every night (he is cursed), about giants who likes to eat children, about a mermaid that turns into bubbles (yes, THAT’s the true story). I realised, the original stories like mermaid, ended sad. Disney make it happy for the children, but I thought the original one was beautiful.

when Harry Potter hit the bookstand, I was crazy about it. I’m a big fan of J.K Rowling and she is a genius story teller. she kept some of the fact until the very end of the series, letting the readers put the puzzle all by themselves.

It’s not always some magical fantasy adventure, I also read Nick Hornby’s books, Shidney Sheldon’s, Dan Brown, Milan Kundera, Kurt Vonnegut, Arudanthy Roy, Chitra Banarjee Devakaruni (take me to the road in India), Sartre (which takes me to Parisian cafes, with smokes and drinks), Simone de Beauvoir,Meg Cabbot (laugh out loud! the grandmere is not an elegant grandma play by Julie Andrews in the motion picture, but more like an old witch), Orhan Pamuk (who bewildered me with the story of an ancient time illustrator that work for Sultan), Ryu Murakami (I can feel the romanticism in the year 69 in Japan), Mario Puzo (and the grande of a godfather).

Books are unbelievable.

It can make you fly accross the continent, dive in the icy ocean, walking in the crowded street in London or in another dimension.

all while you sitting comfortably in your couch with a hot cocoa to sip on.

Stories of these great storytellers that encourage me to write my own. I know I’m far from where they stand, but I enjoyed every moment I walking to that spot.

to write about something, to make a world of your own from a 26 letters, it’s a gift of imagination only human can enjoy.

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