Lately I've had episodes of wisdom and flashes of enlightenment that have me thinking it would be a good time to start writing my memoirs.An apt title would be One Day I Will Write About This Place but Binyavanga Wainaina beat me to it with his critically acclaimed memoir. Though I have not read the book yet, the title alone is enough to get me interested. It has a nice nostalgic ring to it; the kind of nostalgia that would give me a literary high.
The East African edition published by Kwani Trust, is being launched in two days and I am already expectant.
I have read a few autobiographies and certainly The Long Walk To Freedom by Nelson Mandela left an indelible mark. But as I mentioned at the beginning, this year I have experienced events that have challenged me to shift from a memoir reader to a memoir writer.
It began in March. It was a dark month that I would rather sweep under the carpet and act as if it never happened. But something tells me that the March story has to be told at some point.
Now that I mention it, it began way before the third month, with events that lined up like stars to decide my fate. It was a steady downward spiral, sprinkled with an assuming attitude that saw me admitted to hospital.
Yeah, apart from giving me three days experience in a hospital bed, and wishing every moment that this was not happening. I met a loving, but sick mother of another young lady like myself and her words got me thinking. I got a reassurance of friendship and that of a mother's love, that would require a lengthy tribute in itself. If I have never appreciated my mother, that is when I truly understood the turmoil of motherhood and the love that tempers it.
That is a story I tell in bits because I am not ready to tell it fully. But one day I am going to write about it. I have bookmarked it in my mind and I will tell that story fully because I know it will be a balm to another person.
Reflecting on this makes me understand why, many times, the subjects of my writings want to hold back on sharing painful memories. No one wants to open wounds and shout to the world that they were less than perfect, but the thing is that when you do, the healing begins.
Sentimental stuff is made of this, but what is life without a dose of crazy?
In my memoir I will write about dating con artists. For a person who could easily be awarded an honorary diploma in relationship expertise, by virtue of my work, I have had my fair share of hilarious drama in that area. I'm not sure where to start without breaking into endless laughter, so I'll save it for the memoir.
There are so many other stories of struggle, of triumph and defeat; comedies, epics, dramas and running over. It will make a thick book to tell this story.
Everyone has a story, which when shared will touch another life by way of entertainment, growth and in many other ways. Those who tell their stories find meaning and healing.
This is my story, what's yours?
