Read this post first: I described 2 objects, and my emotional connection to them… and made ppl guess which of the 2 objects I did not own. #creativewritingfuntimes
The results are in!
I got the following feedback:
- If the ring were the “real” object, I’d have better described it. What stone it is, whether there was an inscription on the inside, if the band had worn thin on the inside through wear and tear…
- That is way too crazy a story to be true: bam, one line to describe the sudden death of a parent? Nah way.
- Well, everyone knows I have teddybears, and followers of my blog know they do reside in my closet, so that must be true.
- From someone in my writing class, “well it can’t be the pointe shoes story, there is no way Vanilla is an accountant, come on now. Wait, what?! You ARE an accountant? But… I don’t understand. You have a personality!”
- From almost all my close friends and family (other than my daddy, obvi), who know of my love for ballet, some of whom remember the years spent in perma-casts and crutches, it was a slam dunk. The pointe shoes were true.
Surprisingly, only 4 ppl got it right. One of my boxing friends, a guy I know professionally, a long-time reader of my blog who I have never met and one girl in my writing class – aka all people who do not know me that well. They all gave a similar explanation for their guess: the pain seemed truer for the ring, because I talked about my feelings less. They recognized the hole that grief makes in a person’s heart and narrative. And for that very reason, I know without knowing any details that they too have experienced loss from which one doesn’t quite recover.
Behold the ring. I have no idea what the stone is (seems too pale to be an aquamarine), couldn’t care less what the cut or the size is. I only checked to see if there was an inscription after I got that comment in class. The ring is beautiful to me, and is a tangible link to my mother. I do not know, or care to find out, anything more about it.
To be fair to the ppl who do read this blog, I do love ballet. It was a tricky one. I have no memory of when I disposed of those shoes. I definitely did not own them by the time I moved out at the age of 19. They did have blood stains, and I did used to bring them with me to school every day the first few months after my first major surgery. But I have no memory of them after the age of 14. Knowing me, in one of my rare fits of domestic godliness, I probably chucked them after celebrating the first year anniversary after my last surgery (around my 17th bday), in a quest to rid myself of all that negative energy and bad memories.
One day, I’ll own another pair. I’m happy I’ve found my outlets for creative expression.
Thanks to everyone who read and gave me their opinion!!