Public experiences are hard to share,
much harder are personal experiences. I, myself, used to believe a weak student
in English class from primary level. So, I hesitated to raise my hands. I could
hardly ask any question or submit my assignments. Reading and writing English
acts as a boogieman for me that I always scared of. It captured my whole body
in such a way that whenever I tried to open a book, my mind gets blank. I used
to read a lot of motivational books, English News, English films and so on to
enhance my English reading and writing. But the time I spared was just a waste,
nothing else.
One day in the regular class at my
college, when I was at my 11th standard, my English teacher gave me
an assignment to write an essay on any topic I like. I was damn sure that, with
some grammatical errors, I could prepare my essay. Let me tell you, I used to
make a lot of grammatical errors in English. It might be the consequences of my
English teachers at my primary level. Ummm, it’s not the word to share but he’s
the ugliest person I’ve ever met. I didn’t like the way he teach or the way he used
to call me. He’s the only person who kept my nickname “Laati” meaning
“Miss-Nothing”. I hated the very word, teacher and the subject. Besides hatred,
there exist moralities and duties to fulfill. So, I thought a lot about the
subject to write an essay. Many issues came into my head but none of them
triggered my head and pondered my heart. Next day, I went with a blank copy. I
didn’t know how he understood my suffering. He started telling me not to think
much and let my two hands free to write and express the feelings of my heart. I
replied, “Writing is a problem for me, especially English Writing”. “I think
every person felt so in his/her student life” with just a light smile he said,
“That’s a good topic. Write on it.”
In the class, I tried a lot. I can’t
remember exactly how many subjects hovered into my head but they just passed
away like the clouds swept away by the breeze. When the English class was over,
one of the papers of my English copy was full of scribbles. “O my God! What had
I done” I whispered inhaling a long breath. Without thinking anything else I
kept my copy in my bag.
That very night, I suffered a lot. I was
reckless. I knew that I have to prepare an essay as an assignment but my mind
acts like the clouds which were swept time and again by the gentle breeze. When
my mind was almost vacant to think about the topic, I starting surfing
internet. ‘Google is the best teacher to learn the things or ideas when we are
alone.’-one of my friends used to say at my college. Adapting the same strategy
I went on searching one topic after another topic in the internet. But every
time I opened a new page or searched a new topic on the Google, only one thing
I got and that was nothing else than the disappointment. That was a troublesome
night because I couldn’t sleep that whole night. I kept on consuming coffee
cups one after another. My whole body started aching but my eyes and heart
didn’t allow me to sleep. I was supposed to be psychic patient. I could
remember that I saw my watch last time that night when it was tickling half
past one. Then after, when my eyes got shut I can’t memorize.
Next day, I woke up with the rising sun.
Mild breeze was blowing outside. Chirping sounds of the birds had made the
environment really beautiful. But in the distant, the hill standing still
seemed lonely and barren. I couldn’t bear that ugliness made by, we, human
beings. I remembered the idiom- Hariyo Ban Nepalako Dhan- my Nepali teacher
delivered in one of the class. I was really sad to see that lonely picturesque
which was just opposite to my Nepali teacher’s saying. I couldn’t sit being a
statue. I thought of generating awareness among the people; I want to keep them
aware about the consequences of mass chopping down the tress. I wanted to share
my little knowledge to educate the people.
Immediately, I sat down with a pen and
paper. I started jotting down my feelings. I just kept my pen ejaculating the
ink over the paper. I was not a professional writer so to spill over my
feelings on the paper, I had to struggle hard. Few papers where I explored my
mind were just full of scribbles. Few others were full of ideas that everyone
knows. Arrrgh, I remembered Francis Bacon and dreamt of him; how could he write
such awesome, heart-touching essays. My opinion of conveying own idea to others
is easy was failing in front of my eyes. I used to think that I could explore
my ideas in the paper in a fine way. But thought and action really are two
different poles, I realized. Even though, my mind was tired, I didn’t stop. I
knew that success depends upon labor so I kept working with those mess up and
scribbles. I nearly filled my half portion of my rough copy with my ideas,
scribbles and some other unnecessary things.
The day began; college hours began;
English teacher entered in the class and I was without my assignment. I was
damn sure that I would be insulted in front of the class. A kind of fear
speared on my head and its impulses started to expose all over my body organs.
Unknowingly, I face turned red. I English teacher suddenly noticed me. He made
me to stand. My heart was about to pop out. My legs started trembling as if the
epicenter of the earthquake is my body. At the meantime, he asked me if I had
my assignment or not? I didn’t have answer of it so I told a perfect lie that I
completed my assignment but I forgot to bring my copy. I didn’t know whether he
thought my words as truth or he understood that I was lying. He just ordered me
not to forget next day, otherwise I will be punished. Ahh, his words gave a
kind of relief to me. The earthquake of my body settled down. My legs became
calm and I became a normal girl again.
That day, after the college hours, when
I reached home I just sat down to manage my points and scribbles in a paper. A
kind of fear made me work faster even though it took nearly three hours to note
down my ideas in a systematic way. After that, again, I had to develop my
points in several but coherent paragraphs. Every paragraph need to justify my
main argument-I was conscious about it. I kept on moving my hands. I kept on
developing paragraphs after paragraphs. I was even indifferent towards time
day. When I was writing my opinion in the last paragraph, the clock reminded me
of 9 pm. That was the night I refused to have my meal. I didn’t know what it
was but hunger to accomplish my work killed my hunger to have food. That night
I had a sound sleep because I had completed my work. My mind was tension free
and my body as well was ache less.
Next morning, when I woke up, I saw my
copy. Finally, my hard work was in the copy. I couldn’t believe on my eyes, I
filled six pages of my exercise-book. With lot of joy, I submitted it to my
teacher in the class. He put correct signs saying that if I tried harder I
would write better than that. After his complement, I started writing on random
subjects that hovers in my mind. I started submitting all of them to my English
teacher; and he never mind correcting the errors and revising my writings. This
task went on day after day. Every day, I had something into my head to write
on. I was somehow addicted on writing because it was not only improving my
skill but also was giving me a way to live a stress-free life. The papers were
my place to give an outlet of my emotions so they avoided me to pass through
depression in my life.
After a couple of months, my English
teacher advised me to send my articles to publish in a national newspaper.
Publishing an article was a tough job. My first three writings were not
published. I was sad but didn’t lose my hope. As a consequence, my fourth
writing got published in “The Republica”. My happiness had no bounds.
Publication of my article kept me motivating. I started writing articles about
different subjects every week.
Ten and half months passed by. Now, I’m
a columnist in an English National Daily, “The Himalayan Times”, these days.
Today, I can feel what really motivation is…., what really hard work is…. And
most importantly I learned a lesson that no problem is a problem if we try to
get rid it, either it’s just writing, speaking or something else. I am so
thankful to my English teacher who guided and motivated me. My hate changed
into love. Now, I love my English teacher because without him I won’t be what I
am. No more English is my boogieman. It’s the great triumph I’ve achieved yet.
