I’ve always been a peter pan in my life, afraid of getting old, afraid of not being able to fly one day. I’ve kept my wings secured behind me, and like Maleficent, I wonder how my life would be, without it.
Today, turning another page in the rim of my life, which seem to be quite a collection of thin boring notes, makes me anxious. I don’t know what lies ahead over the next few pages. Other than that, full of uncertainties too, for I am left clueless of what actions should I take in order to make those upcomming pages remarkable. Because what did Peter say to Wendy? “Do not grow up“. Can I not? Lol.
Twenty two. Cute litlle numbers, so small, yet so old when combined together. I don’t know if I should be happy or sad because you see, I am not as brave as the ‘lost boys’.
Being older feels like being carefree tho. You get to do bolder things; the priviledge that kids could not afford, yet. But is it really going to be as cool as I’ve imagined it when I was a bit juvenile? I mean, when I was young, I use to marvel at adults sometimes, because they can do many things. And since I could not stop myself from getting into that stage, I made a bunch of ideal plans. And I wanted them all to come true, setting a time table on each, but when I got to age, I realized that it isn’t easy as counting 1-2-3. Each plan needs time, action, experience, and most of all, survival. In my wee hours, I wonder if all those dreams that I tried to establish in my reverie are really attainable for someone who knows nothing about life, except for those few pages I read on books and papers. I sure wish my fairygodmother is listening right now.
This year has been quite a year of schemes for me, deciding from which dot should I cross in order to get me to the next dot. I kept wondering if I’ve been making a progress in creating a smooth, straight line instead of a zigzag.
Peter pan used to say that a person has to think of happy thoughts in order to fly. That makes all the inspiration useful in some way. But as years before my eyes had passed, I learned a great deal about tragedy and sadness, and I don’t know if those are even useful or not, too. I wonder if my skeptic idealsm is still enough for me to be able to jump off the cliff and assure myself that everything is going to be ok. If I were in neverland, then maybe, while writing this, I might have a change of heart, for what is the use of a fairy dust?
Twenty two. How easy it sounds but a pressure for lost, old souls, like mine. I feel my wrinkles starting to become visible in the mirror. I am paranoid, yes, but still in my innerself, I am positive. I have faith that I’ll my make my way through, someday, somehow.
Life will unravel itself they say. For it is but a journey of unbridled self discovery of who we really are destined to be, is it not? Good thing I have hope like thinkerbell. And that hope grows bigger each day.
I just sure pray that all is going to be well, in my terribly paradoxical wonderland.