“Any girl would love to be someone’s muse.”
Marlon only hums in response.
Once I’ve reached the end of the folder, I turn to him once again and break into the widest grin. I pour all my genuinity into the smile, so he doesn’t mistake it for sarcasm.
“As much as I hate to admit this,” I begin, “These are amazing Marlon. You’re seriously so talented. Like,wow. You could genuinely, like, earn money from commissions and stuff. Or start small, by posting your artwork online.”
Marlon sits back down on his bed, looking thoughtful.
“I’ve never posted my artwork online, so I don’t know. Maybe.”
I rise from the chair, and sit down beside him, the bed dipping where I perch myself.
“You’ve got great talent that shouldn’t be hidden. Have you shown your parents?”
Marlon shakes his head, “I’m not sure they’d be entirely supportive of it, of how much I like it. At least, if I were to pursue it professionally. They want me to be in business, remember?”
His voice drifts off at the last word. I totally get it. Within our culture, creative ambitions were less regarded than medical or scientific ones. While my parents expressed support for my writing ambitions, for Marlon, it might not be the same situation. It’s why he’s taking a business course. Still, it doesn’t mean he can’t post it for the world to see.
I place my hand atop his leg, patting it.
“Start small. Post it online. Let the world see your talent. It would be a big shame for all of that to be hiding on your computer.”
Marlon holds my eyes for a moment, before his mouth stretches into a grin. The same cheeky grin, as always. Same old Marlon.
“You’re actually complimenting me Garcia,” he says, “What has the world come to?”
I chuckle, pinching him on the knee.
“Do you still write, by the way? Your story about how your friend pitched today, how come you didn’t do so yourself?”
I’m surprised at the question, and more so at the fact that Marlon remembers such a detail from my life.
“I’m flattered you remember about my writing,” I laugh.
“How could I forget, when Mum kept gushing over how you won writing award after writing award,” he says.
I tangle my finger in the fabric of my pants, “I don’t write as much as before,” I confess. I’d stopped writing original creative works during the HSC, when I had little to no time at all. Somewhere along the way, I’d lost the motivation, and the confidence.
“But I’d like to. I’m still finding my footing this semester, though.”
Marlon leans back, watching me thoughtfully.
“Well, I’ll throw back exactly what you said to me Garcia. The world deserves to see your writing,” his mouth twists into a smirk, but it’s not as irritating as I once found. It’s almost comforting.
“I used to sneak peaks at your english notebooks when we used to study together, and it was good.”
I gasp, slapping his arm.
“How dare you sneak a glance at my work,” I exclaim.
He pokes at my side and I lurch away from him, before falling beside him on the bed, both of us giggling.
It feels good, actually, to talk to him about my art. I can talk about this with Kiara, and Diane of course, but it’s nice to talk tosomeone who isn’t directly in my industry too. Someone in my culture. Someone close to me.
“Whenever you start writing again, share them with me, okay Garcia?”
He lifts his pinky, and I hesitate before intertwining it with mine.
