Throughout my childhood, I was very fond of drawing, and like many other kids, I daily drew many things with my colour pens and crayons. When I was in kindergarten and crazy about Sailor Moon TV series, my drawing revolved a lot around Sailor Moon characters, and when my little brother passed away just before my sixth birthday, I made a cartoon character of my brother and started drawing many of his daily scenes. Even after I went to school, my drawing practice continued and I always drew something that was close to my heart.
At my friends’ houses, I often saw their drawings framed and showcased on the wall. From the way they were displayed, they felt like a very important family treasure. My parents didn’t do that for my drawings. But there was something else that they did — they always dated my drawing.
My drawing was mostly spontaneous, so, I often drew things on the back of some scrap paper and left it on the dining table, completely forgetting about it and moving on to the next activity. The next day, when I sat down to have my breakfast, I found the sheet of scrap paper with my drawing neatly separated from other clutter on the table. And when I looked closer, I saw the date written next to my drawing.
I never thought much about this. I wondered why my parents took the time to date even the most insignificant drawings I made. But I now realize that I actually loved seeing the dates on those drawings. The hand-written dates on my drawings made me feel seen.
Even to this day, when I stay at my parents’ place and happen to leave a drawing on a piece of scrap paper, the next day, I find it dated in exactly the same way as I did when I was a little girl.