Marks

I am not a writer. In fact, the highest I could reach in this department was as Campusiana editor of our paper way back in high school. It wasn't really a serious column, just a corner where you found jokes, puzzles, light gossip, etc. In fact, the name of my column was "Chatterbox". Got the point?
But once in a while I do get flashes of inspiration, which a favorite author of mine calls "Sophia moments". Well, when I do get "possessed" by my Sophia moment, I just write and write and write. It seems like the pen has a life of its own that neither my hands nor my brain can cope with. I cannot even check the grammar (I do that later) and my right hand feels numb and tired because of the haste. So my handwriting is undecipherable and heavy. Yes, it is so heavy that the following five pages still bear the marks of what I've written down. When I touch these pages, it is like reading braille.
In a way, life is like that. The pages ahead of me may look blank, but they are not. My future bears some marks, leftovers or ghosts of my past.
As we begin this new year, we are exhorted to leave the past behind, turn on a new leaf and start anew. Well, they do sound good and offer much hope, but they are not very realistic.
The pages ahead in the book of my life are not blank. But it doesn't mean that I cannot write down anything. Yes, I can and I am called to turn the page, but aware of the baggage that I carry. I will not let the baggage prevent me from filling up a new page, from writing a new story. The baggage will help me to understand why my story has to take another twist, or why it seems to wander in another direction.
Yes, these marks will remind me that my stories are part of a bigger story. But there is an eternal hope in my heart that despite the twists and turns, my story has a happy ending.