Since as far back I can remember, I wanted to be a writer or a carpenter. I wanted to be a carpenter, because I like the smell of wood shavings, which was the reason I hang around the carpenter’s workshop a lot when I was 10 years old.
I don’t have a clear logical reason to have the desire to be a writer. I found the meanings of words and phrases are intriguing and like to think about them. I also liked the looks of the words – calligraphy, when I was a kid. For awhile, I dreamed of owning a library, so I can flip through any books I like especially in raining or cold days – surprising treasure finds make my heart sing and my brain perk up. I like the smell of libraries.
I think I wanted to be a writer maybe because I love books. I appreciate books, not just the content, including the cover design, the font and paper selection, the size, even the spacing of words and the texture of the paper. Books are treasure boxes. Books are knowledge keepers and are the source of everything- I believed until not long ago. I still believe they are knowledge keeper but I don’t believe they are the source of everything anymore.
Being a carpenter is a dream that I don’t mind if it’s not going to come true, but being a writer is a dream I prefer becoming true at the later part of my life: I would enjoy it as a part of my daily activities.
Knowledge served me well. Later on, I learned that knowledge is not wisdom. I need to become an alchemist to turn knowledge to wisdom, and becoming an alchemist is a journey inward. I’m on it and will be on it for a very long time.