I believe in destiny. I believe in the magic of moments. How they merge into one another like sliding droplets of rain collecting at the bottom of a windshield. Forming a little ocean, only you were meant to drink from.
Children love to collect things. Most children my age would collect stamps, coins and sea shells. I tried collecting stamps just once because it was cool. Then I also tried sea shells, but then I didn’t have any beaches nearby and flying to Karachi (the city of beaches) just for my collection was a bit too farfetched even for my taste. Now coins, I assumed would be easy since we traveled a lot, especially my father. But that didn’t go as planned either.Barbies. Now what girl wouldn’t like them? I thought it was weird that I had no barbies. So on my tenth birthday I asked my parents to get me a barbie doll. I got one of those barbies with long hair and hair styling products. Makes perfect sense because I hated brushing my hair (still do!). So after my birthday, I sat and combed her hair. Sprayed it with pink hairspray and brushed it some more. Now what? I needed more time to figure out the barbies in my life. I got hold of some more. At the end of each play time, I was bored to death. Lets just say a new version of “Toy Story – the barbie hater” was a possibility. Thank God Toy Story was just a cartoon.
So what made my heart skip a beat? Stationery. I remember my pink, furry pencil-case that no one was allowed to touch, especially my young brother. Patterned pencils, erasers, animal shaped sharpeners, scented paper, pink stapler, post-its. It was my own little bliss. My eyes almost jumped from their sockets every time I went to a book store. I would gladly trade my ice cream for a glitter pen. And God knows how much I loved ice cream.
All throughout my early years, I devoured books.The Baby Sitters Club, R.L. Stine’s Fear Street, Hardy Boys, Nancy Drew, Enid Blyton, Agatha Christie The famous five, Classics…anything I could get my hands on. My pink pencil box was still safe and loved. But another love bloomed. Journal writing. Notebooks. The fresh smell of scented paper, crinkly pages waiting for my words. Diaries with my personal lock and key! How cool was that! So I wrote. Daily ramblings. Gibberish only I was meant to read. My cursive script looked like squiggly stick men strangling each other. But who cared. My writing was for me.
Fast forward almost a decade, and there I was, beating myself over programming language and cursing the bits and bytes of computer logic. Computers were never my thing. My younger brother taught me how to run a computer. The only thing I did on it was play wheel of fortune on a CD and chat with my friends. With such obvious love for technology, I went into computer science. Hard to believe, but it was an important dot that I would connect years later.
I got a corporate job in IT. I had no interest, a 9 to 5 drudgery, but the pay was good and I had friends there. So life was complacent. And the most wonderful and unexpected outcome was the love of my life. I met my husband at work. I doubt meeting him at the library or a book store was ever a likelihood. I had to be where I had to be. We got married a couple of years later and last year we moved to Canada, because of our technology background. Another dot. Followed by another. Making perfect sense.
After so many years, moving on a path as crooked and as wondrous as a starry constellation, I am finally here and I am writing. My heart still flutters at the sight of book stores and beautiful notebooks. And I continue to dislike barbie dolls. I love computers and the Internet because they are a necessity and make my life interesting, and that’s as deep as I am willing to go with technology. Many people after reading this would ask why I didn’t get into literature, or writing before? It was all in plain sight! I say it wasn’t. My bus was supposed to take the longer route.