When I was nine, the teacher asked us to write a piece about our

In his recollection, Eugene Ionesco speaks not merely of childhood memories but of the awakening of the creative spirit. “When I was nine, the teacher asked us to write a piece about our village fete… He read mine in class. I was encouraged and continued. I even wanted to write my memoirs at the age of ten. At twelve I wrote poetry, mostly about friendship – ‘Ode to Friendship.’ Then my class wanted to make a film, and one little boy suggested that I write the script.” These words reveal how a single moment of recognition can shape a destiny. From the spark of a teacher’s praise was born one of the great dramatists of the twentieth century — a man who would later create works that shattered conventions and exposed the absurdity of existence. Yet here, in the innocence of youth, we see the seed from which that brilliance grew.

The origin of this quote lies in Ionesco’s recollections of his early education, long before fame or philosophy took root. Born in Romania and raised partly in France, he lived between languages and worlds. In his tender years, he discovered that words held power — power to move others, to be heard, to make beauty out of ordinary moments. The teacher who read his work aloud became, perhaps unknowingly, a midwife to genius. Encouragement, when sincere and well-timed, can awaken the sleeping artist within. Thus Ionesco’s memory stands as testimony to one of life’s quiet miracles: that a single act of belief can ignite a lifetime of creation.

This recollection also captures the purity of youthful ambition. At ten, he dreamed of writing his memoirs — not from vanity, but from the overflowing sense that life already contained stories worth telling. At twelve, he wrote of friendship, that first great mystery of the heart, when bonds are made not for advantage but for joy. The child’s heart, unclouded by cynicism, writes because it must — because the soul, even then, hungers to express what it feels. In this way, Ionesco reminds us that the creative impulse is not something we acquire as adults; it is something we are born with, something that whispers to us before the world teaches us to silence it.

There is a story that mirrors Ionesco’s awakening — the tale of Vincent van Gogh, who also began as a soul searching for his purpose. Van Gogh’s early life was marked by failure and uncertainty, yet when a friend first encouraged him to paint, that moment of recognition became a turning point. His early sketches were clumsy, his colors unsure, but his heart was aflame. Like Ionesco’s first poem read aloud, that small spark became a fire that would one day set the world aglow with new color. Both men show that the path of creation begins not with mastery, but with a single gesture of faith — from another, or from oneself.

What Ionesco reveals is the continuity of artistic evolution — from childish essays to poetry, from poetry to drama, from drama to philosophy. Each stage was a bridge to the next, built upon curiosity and courage. It is a reminder that great things grow not from sudden genius but from persistence, from nurturing the fragile ember of passion through the long winters of doubt. The child who dares to write an “Ode to Friendship” becomes the adult who dares to question the absurdity of life. Every artist, in truth, begins with the same trembling — and triumph lies in never letting that trembling silence the song.

Yet beneath his words lies also a universal human truth: that we all hunger to be seen, to have our voice acknowledged. The moment his teacher read his story aloud, Ionesco learned that his thoughts could reach others — that expression could bridge the lonely spaces between souls. It is a lesson for all who doubt their worth: your words, your work, your art, however small it seems, may awaken something vast in another. One kind word can alter the course of a life. One act of belief can set in motion generations of light.

The lesson is timeless: nurture the spark when it appears. When you see a child — or a friend, or even yourself — showing the first flicker of joy in creation, encourage it without hesitation. For creation is the language of the soul, and praise is the oxygen it breathes. In practical action, write, paint, sing, or dream — even when you think it is foolish. Keep the child within you alive, for that child is the wellspring of all inspiration. As Ionesco’s life teaches us, art begins in wonder, survives through courage, and matures in devotion. To create is not a profession, but a prayer: an answer to the divine call that first spoke to a child, in a classroom, on an ordinary day — and changed the world forever.