#4 : 'I Am Not Afraid' ?

The Totally Unscientific Chronicles of Systemic Memory Relapse and associated Maddening Disorders

We all have had them. One time or another.

The bad timing case.

No,i am not talking about situations where trite  lines like "its just bad timing-if its meant to be it will eventually be"  are cited, a saying to which i would personally love to retort with a smirk and a "please shove it up your ass" if i ever hear it. 

I am talking about instances where our choice puts the other options totally out of the picture. No option of "may eventually be" or feeble "what ifs".

So we choose, because what we have and what we now want to include don’t perfectly align at that time.(*eyeroll* stupid strategy )Choose, NOT because we would rather lose in a cause now that could someday triumph than to triumph in a cause that we know will someday fail, but simply because we don't want to take a leap of faith.

Then, if the cons outweigh the pro’s of our micro-scrutiny of the entire situation, we cop out. Step back.  Play safe. And we justify our choices while we play safe. We build up walls. Higher.  Stronger over time. Till it convinces us that it is high enough to block that path. And we sit complacently for awhile, satisfied in our warped view of how things will be forgotten and we will let go of it.  And they eventually do. They are replaced, by everyday. Life, as we know it, gets in the way and hurls other major turning points as we move on and stock up on fresh memories along its course. And soon the wall becomes so blurry that we don’t even see it anymore. Atleast that’s how it was for me.

Then.

One day.

One piece of long forgotten piece of paper.

One random song.

A small inanimate thing I had tucked away.

One glance at the vaguely familiar area.

Just ONE of the above.

And BOOM.

That does it.

Moments of pure, unadulterated, unrationalized maddening urge.

Instantaneous.

Systemic.

And there it looms. Darker than before.  That wall I had built. The wall that had blurred away to obscurity till that very moment. That wall. 

Crumbling unabashedly, unapologetic and involuntarily. Paving way for a flood of memories. Memories  I thought i had tucked away to oblivion . And yet here they come, getting under my skin, piercing through every molecule of my being , stirring up all the moments right till the build up of the climax of that chapter of life. The maddening blast from the past catalyzes the rude wake up call – that I had let go… while vestigially holding on.

Now that the wall has crumbled, this time how does this end?

Is it the end? 

Or the right time?

And if it is… Is there a right time to undo the wrong things for the right one?

FairyTales

 A Beautiful Princess.An enigmatic Prince,
An Enchanted Palace. A majestic King
Whimsical Subjects. A viciously seductive Villian and of-course the Knight in shining Armour
Delicate. Flowers. Vintage. Magical. Sparkle. Dainty. Lovely. Colorful. Natural. Candles. Love. 

There is a part in all of us — a sliver of innocence left from our childhood, lying dormant — that comes alive when we read a good story, watch a movie, or experience art.

That  part that still believes in fairy tales.

I adored fairy tales as a child. 

I still do, actually. 

Mysterious dark forests, wishing wells, enchanted princes and poised apples and glass slippers not to mention, adorable animals who speak – what’s not to love? I think I always felt, curled around a volume of Hans Christian Andersen or the Grimm’s collected stories, that there was a little bit of magic hidden away at the heart of every story.

Of course, they come with thier share of darkness too. I remember sobbing over the fate of the Little Mermaid, who for all her efforts couldn’t make the man she’d fallen for, love her back. And then there’s the gruesomeness – the evil king/queen ravaged by jealousy/greed with heads rolling, feet cut off, eyes put out. In some ways, these are probably the original horror stories which have survived the decades of editing and euphemising in order to make it more child-friendly. As a child, though, I don’t remember ever being troubled by the physical violence in the tales. It all happened, after all, in a land far, far away .

I love the older darker cruel-ler gruesome tales as much as I love the cheesy ones that end with happily ever after (but I loathe that I do, but as I was weaned on Grimm and Disney, it’s ingrained). 

What I love is that fairy tales are that they are living and evolving.  They are survivors. They change to suit society’s needs. Originally they were cautionary tales warning both adults and children alike of the dangers in the world. Each tale would change with each reciting as the storyteller would embellish and adapt the tales to suit the audience and keep them enthralled.

The thing that has remained with me the most from my childhood love of these stories, though, is that sense that there is a little bit of magic hidden somewhere within them. Fairy tales, once unleashed, take on a life of their own ..  There are still some paths that, once started down, you never know where they might lead . . .