Emil’s World

Journal

 

My writing isn’t just story-telling. It captures a philosophy of how I live and the values that are important to me.

 

- Emil Rem -

I love to entertain, build a ‘prejudiced ‘ view of a person or incident at the beginning of each story and come to an opposite conclusion

Each day I walk along a tight rope separating my past from my present. I’ll see a face and tell myself it’s my aunt come to greet me, then realize that aunt died a decade ago and the face I see today was really the face of my aunt all those years ago. How does that help me to steer through my life today? And pass on values that are priceless to me yet seem archaic to my two sons in their early twenties?

My stories and blogs crystallize what those values and beliefs are. Each story has its own destiny and sometimes it shows me how prejudiced I am when I take those prejudices and treat them as values or morals to hand down to my boys.

Writer’s Voice: How to Find it

My father worked for East African Airways and gave me tickets to fly all over the world. The catch was we had no money and I had to travel on my own. Most of my travels were done between the age of twelve and eighteen. To avoid sleeping on an airport floor (which happened most of the time), I would talk to my fellow passengers and, sometimes, they would invite me to stay with them and show me around. Yes I was Couchsurfing before it got a name and a website!

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How Do You Find Inspiration?

Going to the mailroom in my building, pinned to the notice board, I saw a toque. It was beige. Along its edges was written ‘Baguio City’ in bold dark letters.

Twenty years I had been living in this building. During the winter I had observed the occasional glove which, when found by the caretaker, was pinned to the board. I waited a week. The toque was still there. I had never seen one from the Philippines, let alone Baguio. The Philippines baked in heat and humidity all year round. What need was there for a toque?

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Emil Rem

Emil Rem

Connecting to Eternal Truths Through Storytelling

I was born in 1955 in Tanzania to East Indian, Muslim parents. My mother, who possessed no education but held impossible dreams, divorced my father when I was five, and was immediately ostracized by her community. She moved to England and took me with her.

 

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Writer’s Voice: How to Find it

My father worked for East African Airways and gave me tickets to fly all over the world. The catch was we had no money and I had to travel on my own. Most of my travels were done between the age of twelve and eighteen. To avoid sleeping on an airport floor (which happened most of the time), I would talk to my fellow passengers and, sometimes, they would invite me to stay with them and show me around. Yes I was Couchsurfing before it got a name and a website!