I’ve always known that I wanted to be a writer. There. I wrote it. Now that I think of it, this sentence seems kind of stupid and childish, because being a writer is one of those childish dreams that I do not want to let go of. Like many Asians, my parents wanted me to be doctors and lawyers because they make the most money, and so I parroted them for a while.
But then, this happened:
In Primary school, our English teachers always brought those large books with words and pictures in them. They were about maybe, a metre high (it could have been smaller,I’m recalling a memory) and they had to rest it on a stand or a chair. The teacher would read these books aloud to the class, and we would echo the words back at her. One of these books was called Julius Fatball and the Alley Cats, and there was this kid called Julius who would get teased a lot because he shared a name with a character.
That had nothing to do with the story but I shared it anyway.
So we were reading this book, and I suddenly stopped because this thought entered my head: “Oh wow. That book is beautiful. Someone made it for all of us to enjoy. I want to do that too. Wait! I can do that!”
I know this is actually very commonsensical, but for a six year old, it was a grand revelation. I could write a book. I could draw a book. I could get someone to print a book and give it to people to read. I want to do that.
I am going to do that.
And that was how I became a starving writer with no some money.
So don’t tell your kids to read because they might all want to do all those impractical jobs with no career prospects may actually come up with something great. Or they may grow up to be excellent problem solvers. You never know.