Note: To understand the story from the beginning click here.
I’ve been to the Soho Theatre this evening. I like the theatre, you know and I really should go more. Plays, comedies, musicals – you name it, I like it. I’m interested in anything creative, really.
My love for creativity and for writing now is because of something my mum said to me just a few nights before she passed. I took mum to bed and lay with her for a while. I’d mentioned nothing of my future without her until this point but I couldn’t help asking if there was any way that she could write a letter; a letter for my children if I am ever to have them. She shook her head and told me it would be too much. I felt bad, I shouldn’t have asked. But then she said something that will stay with me forever. She told me that she trusted my way with words. That through my words I could tell them everything about her. That’s the beautiful thing with mum’s, dad’s, siblings – family. They believe in you – no question. Any ounce of creativity I have in me is from her. And she is right, I do love words and that’s exactly why I am doing this project now.
Another passion of mine, handed down from mum, is dance. I went to see a show last year called ‘Some Like it Hip Hop’ at the Peacock Theatre (Sadler’s Wells sister theatre). Not happy with going once, I ended up going four times. I deservedly got a lot of stick for that. But you know what, I didn’t care what people thought. It was the first dance performance I went to see last year that didn’t make me sad. Mum and I watched so many things together and we got excited about them together.
Dance was a hobbie I enjoyed weekly from the age of 3 to 18; french plaits, red lipstick, shows, exams and summer schools. I loved every minute. I went on to have my own classes for a couple of years after uni. The girls that I taught are now making me feel old as I see them on Facebook with photos of holidays, going out to BARS and not to mention with the long-term boyfriends.
I understand that this may seem a bit of a weird post and a little out of the blue. You may wonder where this is going. It is all part of the story, though. It is all because of the person who found another postcard in Paris. The person who I will be talking about next…….