It has been a sunny couple of days up here in Edinburgh, and my mental state immediately adjusted with the appearance of the sun and the clear skies. They say the sun is going to leave tomorrow, but that I don’t mind, because after a little chat with a woman, it’s important that we all have our own sunshine to resort to in windy rainy days.
Walking down the street back from university, I couldn’t ignore the sun calling me to sit and enjoy it before I go back and study. A woman, probably in her 60s, accompanied with the cutest 2 dogs, came and sat next to me. I, of course already had my notebook in front of me, doodling my thoughts away.
‘A writer, are you?’ she whispers. For a second I didn’t realise she was talking to me, but when I did I immediately responded with a no. You can see here that my social skills with people are improving, I am no longer showing that cold first impression, but an awkwardly smiling one. ‘But you seem to be so involved in what you’re writing, I can hear the pen scratching on the paper?’ she said. ‘Ah well, I wouldn’t call myself a writer, I blog though, if that can be considered a form of writing’. She started and never seemed to finish, so this is all what I can remember and squeeze out of her strong Scottish accent: ‘You don’t really have actually write a book to be a writer, you can be a writer by sending a message to your friend, by formulating those exacts words into sentences that the other person needed at that time. You can portray a story you have seen, portray it objectively, and that could be the hardest things you know, writing without inserting our own opinions. I try to write sometimes, but I am trying to take that extra leap and go into being an author. That’s more difficult, you know why? because an author requires that sense of imagination that sense of creativity of creating characters nearly alive, it may turn you insane you know, you end up living with non-existant characters who comply with your exact specifications, but are sadly not there for you. Have you ever experienced that?’
I suddenly found myself talking comfortably to this person who had the smallest piercing blue eyes: ‘I actually think my utmost frustration in life is not finding people who comply with the standards I put, people who always disappoint me, I think my expectations are too high, maybe the books I’ve read have showed me an unrealistic version of the perfect best friends, the perfect family, the perfect outing, the perfect date, the perfect soulmate. I find myself always pushing the people who want to get nearer further and further away, and mainly that’s because I never believe their true intentions, nor the personalities they show me, I always believe there is a hidden agenda, sorry I think blabbered a lot’.
She smiled, and said: ‘My dear, as someone who has read as many books as the days I have lived, I understand what you say, I understand your words. Unfortunately, I cannot tell you to wait and in the years to come that Mr. Darcy (YES she knew him) will come along the way, or that a person like Elinor Dashwood will come and drown you with her genuineness. These characters are an author’s way of resorting to people who kept up with his/her expectations. You will find yours, through your pen, and through this life. Along the way, you will have to accept and open your mind and heart to people who will love you, but with a bit of selfishness, that is the human nature. I advise you to always keep that pen and paper with you, take your characters with you, take your words, take your writings, take your books, take them wherever you go in this crazy journey. And do you know who you should also take with you? the people who appreciate you, those who love you, and those you keep on pushing you to go further and further. These deserve your admiration and love, which I know you will surround them with…OH Nicky and Sammy (which I presume are her dogs’ names), I almost forgot about you. oh well, I should go now. Have a good life ride, and separate your mind: separate your expectations from reality my dear.
Come on boys’
And as she walked away, with the two dogs by her side, I notice something that I didn’t before. Those blue eyes cannot see anything, that angel I just met, cannot see how the sun is smiling over us today, but she can definitely see the beauty of literature and real life; through her heart.