Things I Imagined

My imagination is a monastery and I am its monk.” ~ John Keats

Growing up in the countryside rewarded with plenty of time to observe things. We didn’t have TV at home during my early childhood. So reading, oral storytelling and playing outdoors were forms of entertainment. It was after those outdoor activities, I penned down my observations. For example, I would fill a book page with “a bee flies from flower to flower to flower to flower…” You get the picture.

Then what happened?” asked my mom one day, when she saw the notebook.

I don’t know.”

As you can see, my imagination was nonexistent or not yet developed. I had no ability to invent stories but rather presented things as they were.

But I was also a daydreamer. I mean here, the kind of fancy that yields no result. And my yearning? A taste of bubblegum flavoured ice cream. I missed the city.

So, am I a realist or a daydreamer? Do I have to choose?

In any case, books such as A Christmas Carol, The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus and many more classics played a huge role in developing and stretching my imagination.

And now that I live not far from Santa, I’ve not only seen reindeers but I eat their meat too, I’m submerged in snow for months (things I read about and imagined as a child), I acknowledge the power of imagination.

Therefore, Keat’s quote above rings true. It even urged me to invent my own version, ever since I swapped stilettos for hiking boots. But that’s a post for another day.

The Fells of Lapland

This post was inspired by a fellow blogger, Charles French. Please checkout his blog if you haven’t, and be stimulated by his exploration of writing and reading.

Khaya Ronkainen

12 Comments

  1. I love this. Imagination isn’t limited to youth. It can follow us all our lives, and occasionally the daydreams come true. So what is real versus make believe afterall?

  2. …then the bee flew back to her beehive, which she built inside my left church shoe, and started to sweeten my sole for later.

    Our beginnings are rather similar, dear Khaya. Well, the not having TV and doing a lot of reading bits. Unlike you, my imagination was born 40-years-old. I used to charge the kids in my village fruit for stories. I shared the fruits with them though. 😀

    I hope you’ve been able to tell your mother what happened next over and over and over again… ♥

  3. ‘then the bee flew back to her beehive…’, love this! Yes I can see your imagination is so mature, and I can picture you engaged in barter system even at that young age, selling your stories:-). Yeah, when my imagination eventually caught up, it ran wild and got me into trouble sometimes.

  4. Now I know who to talk to talk to old Nick. He owes me some childhood presents that somehow never found it’s way to Nigeria. This is a lovely read Khaya. Almost like a bedtime story.

  5. Oh thanks Jacque, I’m glad you enjoy this post. As for old Nick, you might to visit him in order to establish what happened to your presents:-)

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