As some of you probably know, I give tuition. So this morning while correcting errors in my tutee's sentence structure, she spoke of problems initiating a narrative piece of work.
And I was suddenly grateful for the proficiency I have now with languages, many thanks to the efforts of Daddy and Mummy.
Daddy instilled in me the passion for books, and the urge to write well. My gift at the tender age of 4 -- 3 picture books with each I pestered Daddy to read me each night. And at the end of it all, I could somewhat read them to myself as and when I felt like it. It followed then that I would receive books for my birthday each year, and more books during prize presentations. While classmates and friends muse over Barbie dolls and PollyPockets, I pored over books depicting life other than my own. Starting off with Ladybug books speaking of fairy tales, I gradually took to Enid Blyton, Roald Dahl, Nancy Drew Series and then the likes of R.L Stine, Chirstopher Pike and Paul Jennings. Never ever BabySitters' Club and Sweet Valley High (Eughhhhh). Past primary school, I bought myself the classics -- Jane Eyre, Pride and Prejudice, Gone with the Wind...
Frequently, Daddy showed to me good pieces of writing. They shone in stark contrast in comparison to my mediocre pieces of work. And somehow it produced in me the urge to produce better and more intriguing writings. Eventually words flew pretty effortlessly with what I love -- description and narration. (HS thinks I write like Oscar Wilde sometimes. But no lah, I don't think so.) Yet I had little luck with expository and argumentative pieces, as proven by my dismal GP grade and the way the teacher condescendingly shakes her head each time she sees me. =( I suppose it doesn't matter now anyway.
Mummy took great pains in coaching me in Chinese, especially since I only came into contact with it in Primary One. Each night she sat patiently with me as I scribbled my xi2zhi4 -- an arduous task since I was either throwing tantrums or in tears. Progress was slow. So Mummy decided that she would not speak to me unless conversation's in Mandarin. And miraculously I did pretty well in Chinese, topping the standard for the said subject a couple of times in pri school and then getting some essays published during my sec school days. These days I converse with Mummy in Mandarin and the rest of the family members in English. Hurhur.
Quite quite unfortunately, I barely write these days. The literature I read's confined to Robbins and Katzung (medical textbooks) and the occasional medical journal for COFM or UROP. Sometimes I regret not taking Lit in sec sch (in all defiance to mummy who thinks lit absolutely necessary for the foundation of good eng). But in all, I am thankful for my ability to read and write reasonably. Heh. =)