Writing.

So. I might have become one of those people who returns to their blog after a long hiatus.

I dust the digital cobwebs away and put my fingers to work. As these words flow I’m not really sure what will come out. We shall see.

Even though I haven’t been blogging, I have never stopped journaling. The physical act of writing has always been therapeutic for me. I think it has something to do with having an impressionable teacher during my formative school years. She insisted that we learn how to write in cursive – for what reason, I will never know. But I do know that it instilled in me an appreciation for beautiful fonts and handwriting, something I try to maintain. As I think about it now, I feel immensely grateful to the teacher who bothered to get her 8-9 year-olds to practice writing cursive ABCs daily in a penmanship notebook which she mandated them to bring daily. One of those things which would never count for marks in a standardised test, but which bring back precious memories and feelings.

At the end of our time together, this same teacher wrote an individualised letter to each of us in – you guessed it – cursive script. A testimony to her love for beautiful handwritten script and her love for each individual student in her class. Years later, when I became a teacher and wrote individualised notes to each student, it was with her example in mind, because I remember how she made each one of us feel so special and seen and cherished, and I wanted to pass some of that on.

I don’t know how I ended up reminiscing about a teacher whom I crossed paths with almost 2 decades ago. It really shows how we cannot underestimate the impact we make on people, even if we don’t feel that we’re making much of an impact at that time. Every little thing we do does make a difference, and sometimes its especially the little things – like your love for cursive script – that can make the biggest difference in another’s life.