Date: 07.11.2009
Time: 10:25 p.m.
Fairy tales had always been such an important part of my childhood! Now don’t get me wrong, I am well acquainted with the rituals of reality to know that they are far from true. However, I always did have a world where I was free to be free and that is a choice I am grateful to have been given.
I believe it was my grandfather who first introduced me to the magic that lay in stories —where the rules of the real world did not always have to be followed. Monkeys and crocodiles could have meaningful business transactions just as easily as you and I, and you could always tell the antagonist apart from his or her cold calculating laugh. There were rules, yes, but most of the time, these were simple and more importantly, followed. You knew that the truth would triumph in the end, something that is in stark contrast to what happens in real life.
But then, I digress. What made me pause and wonder this evening was not how the world of fairy tales and children’s imagination lived by its ethical code, but whether I, given the right time and place, would also be able to offer another new soul a chance to discover the joys of the magical world that I loved so.
I was lucky enough to have people at home who would read to me as a child, people who would not think twice about letting text books lie unattended while letting me pore over brightly coloured skies — some of which were painted on paper and others painted in my mind. A good bedtime story was not just a way to get me to fall asleep, but the path to a mind that stayed rich and open while I dreamt of faraway lands. And not surprisingly, it was not long before I would spend many an hour by myself, lost in beautiful worlds yet to be seen by my eyes. These were worlds where I was free to decide how people laughed, how they saw life and how they cried. I loved it. I still do.
Yet, when I recall how everything started I can’t help but marvel at the charm that the talented storytellers of my early days possessed. To take a child and weave a whole new perspective for her to immerse herself in is no mean feat! This is especially true if the specimen concerned is one like me, with the tendency to get much too easily bored… and distracted.
I wonder then, if I will be able to carry on this fair tradition when my time comes. Will I remember the stories my grandfather told? Or will they be erased by time as I grow old?
End: 10:50 p.m.
2 comments:
Perhaps you will weave new stories out of the subconscious remembrances of the old stories told to you. Everyone eventually tells stories, and it is just knowing the right way to tell one that distinguishes the average thirty-something from a grand old-person!
Hmm, I hope so too. I'm a little rusty in the "talking to people" department you see. :P
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