“Is that weird that I start my essay with a conversation,” a boy waved for my attention and asked. I hurried over, with a smile on my face, and replied, “There is no right or wrong in writing.”
The query and the anxiety etched on his face reminded me of my younger self in the writing class. Writing was one of my biggest fears. Fear of doing something wrong had once imprisoned my thoughts. One lesson, the teacher assigned a timed essay. Time marches on, there were only a few words and repeated phrases on the paper. Eraser shavings were all over my jeans. As the teacher walked across the classroom, I covered the paper with my hands hurriedly. Full of trepidation that my efforts would make me the subject of ridicule, I gripped the eraser and rubbed out the lines on the sheet again.
Then suddenly, the eraser slipped from my fingers to the floor before I could retrieve it, the teacher snatched it from reach, and made her way to the front of the class. “From now on, no one needs an eraser,” she announced. “There is no right or wrong in writing.”
My eraser had been my crutches, a way to guide me towards errorless. However, the teacher’s words were the turning point for me to realize that writing was not to be approached like solving a math problem, only one correct answer. So-called “mistakes” were the path towards exploration and self-expression. I resolved to continue without an eraser and proceed without consideration of ‘right’ and ‘wrong’.
Devoting full concentration, I wrote according to my inner feelings and personal insights. For an hour, my writing covered the whole page, hundreds of thoughts flowed from my pencil to the papar. As inspiration blossomed, I was so self-engrossed in the task that I was unaware the class had ended. Without noticing, my dependence on erasers gradually diminished.
Twelve years later, I signed up to be a writing class teaching assistant, and got the chance to look at versions of my younger self. Sitting in the corners, bundles of frustration, staring into near blank paper, pencil in one hand and an eraser in the other, they were all reluctant to let others see their writing, blind to their own capabilities. As I walked around the classroom, I understood both the journey I have been on and that my pupils were in the early stages of. Every class, the students were asking the questions that I used to ask, expressing the fears that I used to feel. They wanted to know how to correct what they evaluated as “errors” and were all despondent over “mistakes”. Like what my writing teacher has suggested for me, I encourage them to put down their erasers, at the same time, throw away their insecurities. ”There is no right or wrong in writing.” I said.
With a confident mindset we can grow creativity, rather than seeking to wipe away the unwanted. Similarly, we don’t possess “erasers” in life, learning from our mistakes and never repeating the same mistake is the way I turn them into valuable treasures.
