The Unlimited Power of Writing

Writing, another method for communication

By Dr. Hassan Humeida

KIEL, GERMANY: It just started with writing. The funny one that nobody can read. Sometimes, not even himself.

Filling out another form? Damn it – Stupid pale form.

Unfortunately, all first impressions are given by Scripture: Legible handwriting, good student; illegible handwriting, bad student; even more beautiful writing, exceptional talent.

He’s so bored with the crime stuff of filling in lines and boxes. He would prefer to write a whole book rather than fill out a form. Sometimes he feels like he’s filling out a slip of paper sending him to jail. This is followed by the primary denial. This takes place between yourself, the pen and the piece of paper in front of you. He doesn’t like to sign either at all. He rubs his eyes and wonders what the nonsense is? – Should this scribble-scribble announce a confession of its own?

One day, he sat in the class room and listened, half dozing. He suddenly woke up and was unusually fully concentrated. He was relieved when the teacher called it “dyslexia”. He pricked up his ears when the teacher said “By the way, this disease has nothing to do with a person’s intelligence.” Those people affected can be very intelligent.

He breathed deeply and sighed like a hippopotamus coming out from the water of a deep river. The words sounded in his ears like a beautiful melody that he wrote himself and that is played quietly on the guitar by Jimi Hendrix.

Books, products of many letters, words, paragraphs, sentences, pages and chapters

He said to himself in full silence: Dude, you are good, you are a magician, a clairvoyant. That’s exactly what I’m looking for. That’s exactly what I dreamed about in my life. That’s me. A patient with a chronic disease called “dyslexia” – as of today I don’t need a doctor for it. As of today, I’m infected with it and I don’t know who infected me with it. But I do know that from now on, I am highly infectious patient and I am my own doctor myself.

He looked back and remembered Mrs. H. after his interview with her. Days later, she abandoned him as a student entirely, probably because of his terrible writing. But rescue soon came.

Mr. M. took the lead and saved him from drowning deeper in the mire of the letters, words, sentences and texts in the book.

He was an artist who moved letters in the air and let words dance on the board, taking the time for the bad-tempered handwriting of a mostly good-tempered person. This is despite the fact he sometimes gets in a bad mood when his classmates can’t read his handwriting. But he scores well ahead of Mr. M. for his intellect and knowledge. The only life preserver he had was, when people from highly ciphered countries fail to give the right answer. What is the Nile? Who is Jimi Hendrix? Where is South Africa? Is Africa a country or a continent?

Mr. M. was a patient and calm person until one day he almost lost his nerve. The final test was written and the results were in. It was the usual foul handwriting again. But this time he overdid it. So much text in such bad handwriting.

Mr. M. said in a chalky voice: “The essay was good, master of all classes, but you didn’t stick to the instructions at all. You get points deducted because of this – This time many.”

That was right too. He had a bad conscience that Mr. M. might not come the next day because of the stupid writing. In fact, he didn’t show up and Mr. A. was supposed to replace him. Mr. M.’s best friend suspected everything and decided to go for a walk in the park.

Writing the history of the future or the other way around

When he heard the word “park” he was so glad and very happy because he liked grass, plants, trees and parks. He remembered his first lesson with Mrs. H.

She asked him to give a word. He replied “tree”. She said: What a short word! He said to himself quietly: “Mrs. H., if you had known what meaning it can have for him in the 45°C in the shade and under the heat of the savannah, you would not have asked me this question. If you don’t believe me, Mrs. H., please ask The Mirage who was always there and near every tree.”

“Then make a sentence out of that word, please,” said Mrs. H. He replied: “I am sitting under the tree. She corrected: You mean “I am sitting under the shadow of the tree”. But you’re not sitting under the shade of the tree now, but where please? He said: I sit on the chair. She corrected again: sure, you’re sitting in a chair, but you’re sitting now in the class room.”

Mrs. H. told him and the rest of the class at the same time: please don’t be afraid of speech impediments. We teachers love mistakes and you students learn a lot from your mistakes.

“All people make mistakes and learn something from them. It is important not to repeat the same mistakes over and over again, but to correct them,” she said.

It was boiling hot on the day that Mr. M. was away for one day. Everyone was sweating whether they were moving or not and whether they were drinking or not.

Chessboard is easier to read when all the pieces are on the board, including the king

The park was the best decision by Mr. A. It was a hot day in the shady park and the best place to relax with a cup of coffee. It was very fitting for all. Everyone motivated themselves for a professional yoga class on the green lawn. It was fun, exhausting and ultimately relaxing. With the visit to the park, especially on this hot day, Mr. A. survived the attack by lethal writing well – especially on the last day of the course, which was all or nothing – so “the chess is still alive”, despite devastating writing.

email: hassan_humeida@yahoo.de