Imagination
At the age of seven I found a whole new world. She was called Sindy, and I had my very first Sindy Doll. She was ‘Ballerina Sindy’. Sindy had blonde hair and blue eyes. Slim, pretty with pink ballet shoes and very bendy legs. I LOVED her. She went everywhere with me. My Mum made her some clothes, and I gave her my love. Over time, Sindy got given a Beach Buggy, a Caravan and a 3 storey house. My Grandad bought her a coffee table with coffee set and chocolate cake. My Mum and Dad bought her a bedroom set complete with beautiful dressing table with brush and comb set. Ooh I loved my Sindy. Sindy gave me the gift of imagination. I would spend hours making up stories of where Sindy was going and what friend’s she would meet. She partied at the beach, and camped under the stars. She had friend’s round for coffee and sat on the sun deck bathing. And I followed Sindy in her travels, living a life of fun and happiness. Sindy was my friend and Sindy was my inner world which was full of imagination and promise.
When I was twelve I went to senior school and Sindy got left behind. The Dolls house got packed away in a box and all the furniture and clothes went in another box. And to extent my imagination went in those boxes with her. I remember that writing was my way back to my imagination. I had a wonderful English teacher that encouraged me to write stories. I found a love of books and a spent many dreamy hours in the library just reading. Reading and writing was my solace from an outer world that I didn’t understand. I am so glad that I had my reading and my imagination to help me through those difficult adolescent years.
In my late teens I forgot about writing and the books that I wanted to read were deemed ‘unacceptable for a young lady to read’! Now that really hurt. The books were put in big bags and I was forbidden to read them. They felt like a guilty stain on my consciousness and I put books and writing aside. It is only now in the last few years that I have been able to reclaim that part of me. I was and am a fan of Mills & Boon books and I am no longer ashamed to say it out loud. Yes the stories may be romantic and flowery and maybe a little raunchy, and yet what harm is that doing to anyone? I find escapism in these books, when I’m feeling I need some escape. And the permission to read them has given me back the permission to dream, to imagine and to create beauty in my life. And that has to be the best gift there is.