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I'm still learning

When I ponder on why I write, or do anything for that matter, I know deep in my heart it links back to play. Whenever anyone asks, "What makes you happy?", I instantly think of playing out when I was a kid, making up the games and stories, prodding things, climbing, running till I was empty.  I didn't mind when something didn't work or broke in my hands - I learnt something.

When my Dad visited anywhere, he would always go and inspect construction sites - he'd want to see the machinery, the materials, the process.  A part of me takes after him when it comes to poetry.  I love analysing other people's creations.  I want to know what makes it work, what spark of genius a poet has happened upon, or what tools of the trade they've employed. 

My Mum liked to hold court and tell stories to the relatives. She enchanted strangers. She was the most generous, captivating and noble person I've ever had the privilege of knowing. She lit the spark, encouraging me to write.

My brothers simultaneously annoyed and delighted me.  We walked to school together, played together and learnt to fight and fend for ourselves.  Their love and support then, and now, is everything.

I'm indebted to all of my family and my childhood experiences.  They inspire my pursuit of play, creativity, proficiency and the joy that comes from continuous wonder.