Welcome post
I have battled back and forth (within my mind) about doing an introductory welcome post.
Should I do it? Won't that be lame? Who wants to know about me? Really?
Anyhow, here I am typing a post titled Welcome post. Which I suppose is my Welcome post.
Right. Let's get on with it.
WELCOME to my blog, I bellowed, my bellow so powerful that it rocked your computer speakers so much so that your ears have gone deaf for ten seconds and your eyes popped (not literally) with wonderment.
"Who is this bellow-tress?" you wonder.
I am but a normal person. An average girl. Who does not have a way with spoken words but hoped to have a way with written ones. I enjoy writing, I really do. And I hope that this little blog of mine, this creation of mine, this baby of mine, will convince you of that.
However, as much as I love writing, I am terrible with my grammar. I have no idea, no, not a clue, as to why this is. It is what it is I suppose. I guess the books I read must not be grammatically correct either. But, having said that, I hope you will not judge meby my non-grammatical cover on the grammar-front but see me as a person who loves to write, who enjoys composing art out of words, who delights in putting words together in a fluid lyrical way that makes people enjoy reading more than they already do.
Oh my, I must be rambling on and on about my love for writing. All in my loud bellowing voice.
No matter, I shall tell you a tale.
There was this girl, probably about five or six, an age not yet ripe for school. She stays home all day with her mother, a home maker. At that point in time, she does not have any siblings yet, two little brothers and one younger sister who will come along much later. So she spends most her time alone, playing masak masak (Malay for cooking said twice) and wandering around her house pretending that she is in some other universe.
She watches television but detests children programmes. Sesame Street bores her and she hates the cutesy-voiced counting down and the fake happy characters with the fake smiley faces. She knows that they are puppets. She is not dumb and her parents do educate her about the realities of the world. For reasons unclear, she does not feel any likeable friendliness towards the Sesame Street gang.
There are only two shows that she watches. Both are constantly watched day after day. She never got bored of them. The first one is Disney's Cinderella (in a VHS cassette tape). She never tires of it; listening to the same song day after day ("So This is Love", "A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes", etc.), watching Cinderella and the mice outsmart the evil stepmother and dreaming of the time when her prince charming would come and fit a dainty glass slipper over her feet. Such are the daydreams of the young one, even though deep down she knows it will never happen. She has neither a pumpkin patch nor a fairy godmother.
Then along came a Michael Jackson documentary that was recorded on another VHS cassette tape. It is made to promote his new album, Dangerous. She loved how he dance, how he sings and the general upbeat tempo of his songs. She thought that he is so cool, probably the coolest person on the planet (which incidentally may be true at that time). He is her first pop idol (Vanilla Ice would be next).
However, when she is not watching television, she will be wandering around her house aimlessly, bored out of her tiny undeveloped mind. One day, her father brought her out to the neighbourhood book store and bought a book for her. It was a Doraemon comic book, in Malay. For the uninitiated, Doraemon is a magical blue cat made up of various sizes of circles (literally). His magic lies in the pocket in front of this tummy that could conjure up anything. This is where her enchantment began. So, you would be right in assuming that this girl's reading journey started with the Malay language and Doraemon comics. Somehow, along the way, she read English works and that became her main reading staple.
So on and so forth... blah blah blah... yawn... she ended up liking writing too. Which she suppose is borne out of her love for reading.
End of tale.
But a beginning for what is hopefully a wonderful blog and a fascinating experience for readers. If you really want to get to know me, you can read more about me at About Me or you can email me at thetextfolder@outlook.com.
[Disclaimer: I do not promise to reply to all mails because frankly, I am not about to entertain weirdos who wants to enlarged/lengthen/strengthen penises or make rounder/pinkier nipples. There is a limit to the creepiness I can take.]
P/s: I blame Doraemon for my lack of grammatical aptitude.
Should I do it? Won't that be lame? Who wants to know about me? Really?
Anyhow, here I am typing a post titled Welcome post. Which I suppose is my Welcome post.
Right. Let's get on with it.
WELCOME to my blog, I bellowed, my bellow so powerful that it rocked your computer speakers so much so that your ears have gone deaf for ten seconds and your eyes popped (not literally) with wonderment.
"Who is this bellow-tress?" you wonder.
I am but a normal person. An average girl. Who does not have a way with spoken words but hoped to have a way with written ones. I enjoy writing, I really do. And I hope that this little blog of mine, this creation of mine, this baby of mine, will convince you of that.
However, as much as I love writing, I am terrible with my grammar. I have no idea, no, not a clue, as to why this is. It is what it is I suppose. I guess the books I read must not be grammatically correct either. But, having said that, I hope you will not judge me
Oh my, I must be rambling on and on about my love for writing. All in my loud bellowing voice.
No matter, I shall tell you a tale.
There was this girl, probably about five or six, an age not yet ripe for school. She stays home all day with her mother, a home maker. At that point in time, she does not have any siblings yet, two little brothers and one younger sister who will come along much later. So she spends most her time alone, playing masak masak (Malay for cooking said twice) and wandering around her house pretending that she is in some other universe.
She watches television but detests children programmes. Sesame Street bores her and she hates the cutesy-voiced counting down and the fake happy characters with the fake smiley faces. She knows that they are puppets. She is not dumb and her parents do educate her about the realities of the world. For reasons unclear, she does not feel any likeable friendliness towards the Sesame Street gang.
There are only two shows that she watches. Both are constantly watched day after day. She never got bored of them. The first one is Disney's Cinderella (in a VHS cassette tape). She never tires of it; listening to the same song day after day ("So This is Love", "A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes", etc.), watching Cinderella and the mice outsmart the evil stepmother and dreaming of the time when her prince charming would come and fit a dainty glass slipper over her feet. Such are the daydreams of the young one, even though deep down she knows it will never happen. She has neither a pumpkin patch nor a fairy godmother.
Then along came a Michael Jackson documentary that was recorded on another VHS cassette tape. It is made to promote his new album, Dangerous. She loved how he dance, how he sings and the general upbeat tempo of his songs. She thought that he is so cool, probably the coolest person on the planet (which incidentally may be true at that time). He is her first pop idol (Vanilla Ice would be next).
However, when she is not watching television, she will be wandering around her house aimlessly, bored out of her tiny undeveloped mind. One day, her father brought her out to the neighbourhood book store and bought a book for her. It was a Doraemon comic book, in Malay. For the uninitiated, Doraemon is a magical blue cat made up of various sizes of circles (literally). His magic lies in the pocket in front of this tummy that could conjure up anything. This is where her enchantment began. So, you would be right in assuming that this girl's reading journey started with the Malay language and Doraemon comics. Somehow, along the way, she read English works and that became her main reading staple.
So on and so forth... blah blah blah... yawn... she ended up liking writing too. Which she suppose is borne out of her love for reading.
End of tale.
But a beginning for what is hopefully a wonderful blog and a fascinating experience for readers. If you really want to get to know me, you can read more about me at About Me or you can email me at thetextfolder@outlook.com.
[Disclaimer: I do not promise to reply to all mails because frankly, I am not about to entertain weirdos who wants to enlarged/lengthen/strengthen penises or make rounder/pinkier nipples. There is a limit to the creepiness I can take.]
P/s: I blame Doraemon for my lack of grammatical aptitude.
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