I Can Tell You

If I remember well, become a good digger
Get out my shovel, dig at the years of pen to paper
Look deep through the dusty old window,
And switch the light on through that water vapour.1

If I were to picture myself, sleeping in my mother's arms
That would be too early, like an egg learning to fly
To picture myself at four blowing at candles on my cake
That would be too early, like a sun at midnight up high.2

I can tell you.3

Watching myself at five and a half, my first day of proper school
We're getting closer, the weather warming up
Now how about six? When I've learnt to read and write?
Well, that's when I wrote simple sentences all over paper cups.4

At the age of seven, when I'd moved to a different country
Got access to a computer with no internet everyday.
Discovering Word on that bulky old machine, learnt to type pretty fast
I wrote randomly at first, tried writing books followed up from school says.5

I can tell you.6

Books became an addicting thing, and collections of them were up on my shelf.
Their stories, at first, fairytales of fairies and wizards and gnomes
My mind expanding, taste buds forming, a new hunger bubbling.
And I said, "I want to write books, to create worlds and homes."7

At school we had a thing called Writers' Workshop
All I remember was that it was my favourite subject, and became glad
During that time we wrote stories. That was when I wrote my first book.
Twenty pages of fantasy and drawings that was, and did I go mad.8

I can tell you.9

Changing schools to the British system turning eight soon,
I kept that book as a memoir, going back to my stories, forgetting homework.
"Cali, do your homework, what are you doing?" mum said.
My fake excuse, "Stories for Literacy." And when she'd go I'd give a smirk.10

For five years in that country, using Word at least once every week
I got addicted, my imagination buzzing up, the white keys pressed at
I made a folder for all my stories, deleting, creating, never completing
And for those five years, the computer chair I sat.11

I can tell you.12

Whenever on holiday I went, paper with me I brought
A pen in a hand, inspired by new sights, creating more words
Pictures I drew of every new view and eventually on one visit...
I bought my first notebook, a green recycled one.13

I never completed that recycled notebook. Lost it, I did a few months ago.
But now with a whole stack of about twelve other new ones. I counted.
None of them finished, just more and more to my collection.
And at the age of eleven I moved again, my thumbdrive mounted. 14

I can tell you.15

For a year here in Thailand, at school English my favourite subject
New skills, new techniques coming to my pen
A friend with the same dream, the same ambition, the same old story
I write and write on computer and paper in my den.16

And now here I am at the age of twelve, thirteen in another year
My laptop, thin and new, Word still used often several times a week
My memories of dusty old years gone by and now thankful
Because I have storywrite and a dream and an imagination to seek.17

And now I've told you.18