by Keoni Lewis

Created on: May 25, 2008

Serenity. Tranquility. Nirvana. I cannot possibly find enough words to define what writing means to me. I first discovered my ability quite by accident. It was a class assignment in my 4th grade English class. Prior to this newfound hobby, I was determined to become an artist. A passion I still am very involved in. Mrs. Yamamoto, my 4th grade English teacher, had an assignment for us that morning written on the blackboard. "Today class, we will be writing poetry." I had no idea what she was ranting about in the seconds that followed even as we were herded onto the grassy hill behind our school. I thought to myself it was recess and we could play so I promptly started to dig up ant colonies while she spoke. The only sentence I heard was "Now write down everything you hear around you, close your eyes and relax, pay close attention to every sound and identify it as you list them on your papers." The class followed suit and I reluctantly joined in tuning in to the world around me. At least the ants were grateful. I closed my eyes and soon my ears were buzzing with sounds. I wrote everything down as fast as my brain could register them. Time was up yet I did not want to stop. My paper was full from top to bottom with descriptions of the sounds that trafficked through my subconscious mind. As we walked back to the classroom, I was still rendering mental recordings of a lovely, clear and sunny day. Mrs. Yamamoto then explained to us how to take these words or descriptions and turn them into poetry verses. I was already starting before I realized I had finished. Mrs. Yamamoto read what I had written and immediately praised my writing abilities. An ability I never knew I possessed up until that point. A surge of accomplishment jolted through my being. Growing up I was never praised for anything. I looked for approval for everything I did. I seemed to have been more of a disappointment than a child worth nurturing. I became more withdrawn into this world of writing as a means of self-certification. That I was worth more than what people thought of me. As time went on, there was no situation I couldn't endure. My growth through literal expression challenged my mind to expand into horizons that once preyed on my confidence. At times, I wrote as a man possessed. Not aware of what I was writing until three days later when I re-read what I had written. This brought healing to a pain that most people caged inside. I explored my pain. I held autopsies of emotions that hurt me. I danced to the melodies of rationality. Absorbing. Resolving. Releasing. Through writing. Without writing, I may have never acquired the ability to heal myself from that, which troubles me. Instead I would have held all my pain inside behind a concrete exterior fiercely defending my heart and soul from all I viewed as a threat to discovering my sensitivity. Through writing I can express sensitivity with only my eyes to judge and the ears of others to listen, relate and extract from my experiences lessons or inspirations to carry them through life. That brings me great blessings and in turn healing of my soul. Without Mrs. Yamamoto, I would have never recognized my ability to write. God Bless the English teachers.

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