I had a strange dream last night about an old man wearing a top hat whose question was repeated and echoed in my head; do you know who you are?
Here is what I told him, with uncertain eyes:
There is a little girl inside, you can never even imagine how factual her existence is. She is the reflection of my laughter, fear, mythical hope and tears. But there is one thing I am sure about; she knows her path. And that, whenever she is lost, she finds her way back. And if the path vanishes leaving no tracks behind, she creates a new one.
Sometimes she is silent, and that scares me. So in the most unlikely places, I try to find her. I find her trace in the sky, and there she is, chasing a shooting star just for amusement. Or playing the role of a leader to a newborn planet that does not know his way in galaxy. And sometimes, she remembers her mermaid fantasies, that is when I find her on the shore, humming a tune you never heard before while playing with invisible piano keys. She is alone, not miserably, but in the most astounding form.
I will never forget that day under November skies when it was raining heavily while she was still playing out, then she tripped and fell on her knees. She gasped as she looked down on her knees to find a deep-cut scar caused by small sharp-edged rocks. I was certain that she only shed a single tear, took two minutes to think then ran to find a band-aid. She’s independent, it’s like she came from a far away planet where she was the only inhabitant, with the company of only her fantasies and her pure luminous soul.
There is a secret in the way she expresses her feelings that are then reflected in my soul; there is clarity in her feelings, even the miserable ones. She chooses to fight the monsters of destructive feelings with absolute grace, so she expresses each and every feeling with perfect clarity. As sadness fully accepted is always defeated.
They don’t understand that I try to protect her from ever growing up, because real danger is how age taints purity. People always think they have to grow up and burn the remaining of their childhood, and that the endless curious questions asked with glittering eyes of children must be ignored if they had no answers, but that’s not true. They don’t know that childhood is purity, and purity is like a beautiful flower which only blossoms at an early age. That flower is meant to blossom eternally.
She lives inside, in a silent area unmoved by time.
© 2013 ALIA SULTAN