Words of Snow: Episode 5

Looking back, the earliest account of my nearly paralysing perfectionism pace to my lower primary school days. As far as I can remember, I always owned a note book. Far from the usual ones in stores, mine was of an exercise book from my previous class that had not filled up from the subjects course work. Every now and then I would open it and put down my thoughts, mostly girly stuff not to mention naive reflections of a village-bred nine year old. I would give vent to my thoughts, which would flow through the pen onto paper and if I made a single mistake-of a misspelled word or jagged letter I would refuse to cross it out.