Little Kids and Little Artsy Fartsy
As a child, I fancied drawing, scribbling, and reading.
Unlike other youngsters, playing came below my list.
It was like breaking away from reality and pretending that I was a character or a part of the book.
I've had a couple of kiddy story books, but I am fond of one particular story book, for the reason that it contained genuinely drawn pictures and fancy fairy tale chronicles.
This habit enhanced my capabilities and bettered my understanding as well as my hand writing in the course of simply scribbling.
It also enhanced my imagination through vivid visualization that I am a part of fairy tales and pretending that I too am a knight in a shining armor slaying dragons and wickedness in my own brusque conqueror ways.
Equipped with my No.
2 pencil, I felt like an artist, trying to make as little mistake as possible.
Thankfully, an eraser was there to back me up, however, I saw the eraser as an instrument to go back and correct the mistakes I once did.
I seemed like Picasso with unfathomable endowment and using my colored pencils, with all my heart I colored the drawings I considered my work of art.
I have even kept my work of art in a treasure chest and even some of the fairy tale story books I was once fond of, for the reason that I consider them priceless and the underpinning that molded me to what I had become.
As far as I could remember, all these fancy and desire for appraisal of books and surrendering to drawing started when I was about four years old.
At this age, I was skilled in annoying anyone by asking silly questions that most probably meant the world to me.
I learned to be inquisitive enough and appreciatively my Mother taught me how to enunciate and read the words correctly.
Since then, my parents, especially my mother became aware of my undeniable devotion and keen for reading, writing, and drawing that I have started scribbling on the walls and even on their shirts-they referred to this as vandalizing, which I did not figured out during that time.
From then on, my parents finally decided to get hold of a kid's activity table for me, which harnessed my talent for reading, writing, and drawing.
It gave me access for more books and for fancier artwork as a little Picasso.
Unlike other youngsters, playing came below my list.
It was like breaking away from reality and pretending that I was a character or a part of the book.
I've had a couple of kiddy story books, but I am fond of one particular story book, for the reason that it contained genuinely drawn pictures and fancy fairy tale chronicles.
This habit enhanced my capabilities and bettered my understanding as well as my hand writing in the course of simply scribbling.
It also enhanced my imagination through vivid visualization that I am a part of fairy tales and pretending that I too am a knight in a shining armor slaying dragons and wickedness in my own brusque conqueror ways.
Equipped with my No.
2 pencil, I felt like an artist, trying to make as little mistake as possible.
Thankfully, an eraser was there to back me up, however, I saw the eraser as an instrument to go back and correct the mistakes I once did.
I seemed like Picasso with unfathomable endowment and using my colored pencils, with all my heart I colored the drawings I considered my work of art.
I have even kept my work of art in a treasure chest and even some of the fairy tale story books I was once fond of, for the reason that I consider them priceless and the underpinning that molded me to what I had become.
As far as I could remember, all these fancy and desire for appraisal of books and surrendering to drawing started when I was about four years old.
At this age, I was skilled in annoying anyone by asking silly questions that most probably meant the world to me.
I learned to be inquisitive enough and appreciatively my Mother taught me how to enunciate and read the words correctly.
Since then, my parents, especially my mother became aware of my undeniable devotion and keen for reading, writing, and drawing that I have started scribbling on the walls and even on their shirts-they referred to this as vandalizing, which I did not figured out during that time.
From then on, my parents finally decided to get hold of a kid's activity table for me, which harnessed my talent for reading, writing, and drawing.
It gave me access for more books and for fancier artwork as a little Picasso.
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