A picture is worth more than 1,000 words.

There is an ancient Chinese belief that one can determine children's futures by what they do when they are three. To find out, one places all sorts of items (toys, make-up, pencils, etc.) in front of a child and observes which toy the child picks up first. While this is not a scientifically valid experiment, my parents tried it on me anyways. I'm sure they were not expecting anything miraculous to occur (i.e. the Earth to shake when my fingers brushes Excalibur on accident), but the result was interesting. Out of the pile of toys, money, and random crap, I chose a pencil. My dad reportedly frowned when I didn't choose money, but my mother was overjoyed.

A pencil could symbolize many things; most importantly, it signifies art, which has long been an interest of my mother's family. My mother herself loved to draw, her dad was an architect, her grandpa was a dabbler in the arts, and her great-grandpa apparently drew something valuable that was burnt by her grandpa during the Communist Revolution in China. It came to no surprise, therefore, that I would be "artsy" too.

I sketched her recently, isn't she adorable?

I loved to watch my mother sketch when I was younger. She was no professional, but her way of drawing always carried a serene air to it. It was calming and beguiling; I could watch her for hours. She never taught me to draw, but she did sow a seed of interest within me. I wanted to copy her, and so I tried. Whatever she drew, I drew too. My pictures at that age were the definition of ugly, but my mother was persistent (and maybe willingly blind). She simplified her drawings so I could copy easier, and when that failed, she brought me instructional books. Ever since then, I have learned this way, from books, observation, and my mother.

Now, looking back at it all, I still can't call myself an artist by any means. I do not have the experience or knowledge to deserve the title. Yet what really matters is that spark of content within me whenever I set my pencil down on something and draw. It's like that unconscious sigh of happiness accompanying the first taste of ice cream. For a brief moment, the world is on the other shore with all its problems, and only I am here, here in this world I created by art.