Internal Monologs
Like Veronique mentioned in her newsletter this week, I've had an internal monolog running in my head since I was probably 3-4 years old. I know I spent a lot of those first aware years—between 3 and 5—firing questions at my father almost non-stop. Asking him why this, or why that. Questions he always patiently answered. And, despite my best efforts, he always, but always, had an answer for me. Whether any of those answers were scientifically correct was neither here nor there. If I wanted to know why whales had holes on the top of the head, my father had an answer for me.
Our routine got so that he started calling me, Miss Why. He would come home from work, and we would share dinner together—this mostly because at the time I refused to eat all day long till Daddy came home, and I insisted then on eating what he ate. This phase lasted a very long time, throughout the three years we lived in Hong Kong I think. What broke that particular streak? Him having tripe (sheep's intestines and stomach lining) and onions for dinner, one night, when we were back living in the UK.
There was no way this 5 year old was eating tripe.
And so, at roughly the same time I started full time school, I stopped having dinner with my father, and started eating with the other kids, my siblings. And, in doing so, apparently, turned my torrent of non stop thought into firing endless questions at them.
You may ask me why I never spent my day firing questions at my mother and the answer could probably be because, as a small child, I spent a lot of those early years going everywhere with her. And, in doing so, we talked all day long about everything. Our conversations always, without me realising, being her teaching me and, in her own way, answering questions before I even asked them.
That inquisitive internal monolog hasn't quietened or for one second (other than in deep sleep) stopped. Now, without siblings or parents to bombard with questions, I use my writing as an outlet, scribbling furiously into a daily journal like my life depended on it. And, in a way, I suppose it does.