totus desiderabilis

This one is dedicated to kids and young people at heart.

I still remember the world
From the eyes of a child
Slowly those feelings
Were clouded by what I know now

Where has my heart gone?
An uneven trade for the real world
Oh I, I want to go back to
Believing in everything and knowing nothing at all

One of my learned friend, Haq the fatherly lawyer had posted on his blog about his teenage daughter, Khadijah's work of art. It struck me as something beautiful, innocent and pure.

Khadijah's work. OMG.

That girl got mighty talent, I tell you.
And her parents are very supportive (mind you, art things are not cheap!).

Suddenly I felt tears coming out from my eyes, and the burden of daily tension dissipates.
This is what art do to you.

That, or I was reminded of how things were when we were young.
When I was so much younger, I used to draw and paint, and write proses of poetry.
I had stack of books of this artworks, much to my Mother's dismay (bersepah) but to anyone else's amusement (I was an angry child, so I would draw/write about the person I was angry with), that ot my melancholic feeling was deemed inappropriate for a child at my age to have.
And art was a way to release all my energy.

So what happened, you might ask?
I grow up.
Out of childhood, out of the things I used to love.

And when I tried to draw again last night, its not the same anymore.
Sigh.

My husband, since arriving back in India, had relentlessly searching for easel and canvas and paint.
So much that he had been asking around online if those things are available in Udupi.
Much to my surprise really, I thought he was picking up a new hobby.
Macam la dia ada masa kan.

But he said "No, its for you. Dah lama dah tak paint, kan?"
He remembers.
How come I don't?

So there, Haq. My explanation and tell Khadijah my thanks.

No one should forget their childhood, or their inner child.