a couple of days ago, my mom handed me a little package - it was wrapped in a dark olive green plastic bag and had tapes all over it, with a note carefully placed on top.i didn't have to open it. i just tried to feel what was actually inside and i thought to myself:
it's a journal.
the gift came from ate mater - my cousin whom i have always professed to be the reason i listen to jazz in the first place. she also was the reason i came to like reading books. when i was a kid she would opt to buy me books in english instead of comic books which were a fad then and even now (regardless of what language). also, she was the one who gave me my own dictionary as a graduation present when i was in elementary school. believe it or not i still have the dictionary.
i might have mentioned this at one point, but ate mater always have encouraged me to read more and even delve in writing. for as long as i could remember she only truly gave me two things on my birthday or on christmas: i would get either a journal or a book.
and it was through her and this 'unwritten' but practical training that i knew i was able to develop my speech and writing skills. indeed, i did not have to be confined in any space. it is in books i find both my refuge and my adventures.
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