Big, loud letters on colored, shiny plastic. “Do you see these letters?” Grandpa held the package in his left hand. “Look: N – E – W.” The letters rolled slowly off his tongue as he pointed to them one by one. “So the next time you see these letters together, you’ll know what it says. NEW. Now you can read.” Grandpa smiled proudly, and I was too stunned to say a word. My grandfather, who always claimed he couldn’t read, opened the door to a whole new world for me. A package of sanitary pads turned out to be the key.
I had a hunger for letters before I even learned how to read, created my own handwriting before I could write. And once I could travel the world of books on my own, nothing could stop me. Night after night, I dove into new dimensions, yearning for the day I could build a world with my own words. During my teenage years, I fled from uncertainty, searching in novels for realistic solutions. I rhymed my way through turbulent times, colored grey days with my growing vocabulary, and wrote my way from rain to sunshine. I grew up. With an open heart and open arms, I rushed into the world. Determined to ease heartache, fill holes, and save lives. No words, just actions! I thought I was acting out of love. But I never worked harder than in those years when I decided to sideline my own heart. Only when my life came to a standstill did I hear what made it beat faster.
Pippi was one of the first to recognize what I wanted to be. She asked me to write down her adventures. While telling her stories, she took my hand, looked curiously at the bump on my middle finger, and asked where it came from. “From writing,” I answered casually, eager to return to her story. She laughed. “How can you not know what you're meant to do in life, when the answer is right under your nose? Use your WRITING BUMP!” I laughed at her simple insight, which was simply the truth. Still, I hesitated. When you’ve run so far past yourself, the way back feels long and scary. Where should I start? “On the internet, of course!” said my teacher. “Create a social media account, a blog, anything! Do something with your writing! It would be such a waste if you didn’t.” Simpelsap was born. At first, secretly and anonymously. But once the words started to flow, there was no stopping them.
With every blog I publish, I feel myself growing. Not in Ego, but in Essence. Giving space to the thing I love most brings me so much joy and happiness that I can’t help but share it. So I’m back on Facebook, sharing my blog and my love for letters.
If I can gather the courage to face the greatness others already see in me, I can become who I want to be. Because only when I believe in something, does it become real.
When someone believes in you