ORIGIN: This should have been a tapestry. That’s what we saw, that’s the blueprint we will take to our grave. But fate wouldn’t have none of that. It lock-and-keyed the cage. But at least we got to keep our medieval creatures.
Happiness is a dragon. A mythical creature. I will never lay eyes on it. All I have is a name. But it doesn’t matter how many times I tell myself that I am happy. I have tamed that dragon. I have caged it, locked it and thrown away the key. I have dotted all the i’s. If there were any t’s, I would have crossed them too. Without fail. But no matter what I do, dragon fire still eludes me.
Sadness is a unicorn. I am here. Waiting. I am not running in the opposite direction. I haven’t spent more than half my life in hiding. I have had my fair share of tragedies, but that unicorn has yet to stab my heart to tears. My chest is wide open. I have even booked my cheeks under that unicorn’s name. But there are no tears streaming down my face. Not even mist in my eyes.
A group of lions is called a pride. A group of eagles is called a soar. I used to picture a roaring fire laying claim to the sky. But childish notions tend to go up in smoke, and it’s high time I came to terms with the fact that gryphons are just a myth. I have a wall full of accomplishments, but my cheeks remain indifferent to it. I always thought I would smile so wide it hurt. But now I would settle for embarrassment and false modesty.
I want to believe that emotions are a phoenix and there is life after childhood. Something genuine. Bright, but not red-hot. I am not that naive. The only unadulterated thing in this world is a newborn’s first cry, and it isn’t long before words creep into our brains and drown out what was left of that cry. No. All I am asking for are emotions that don’t taste like ashes the moment my childhood goes up in flames and I become an adult. Muted sunlight will do. Something that’s halfway between red feathers and grey ashes. Just enough to help me cling to life.
Something so precious, so dangerous as a soul should be kept under lock and key.
Dragons might be quadrupeds, but they have wings. Dragons take after birds, not dogs. That’s the reason I can’t risk unlocking this cage. A loyal dog would come back home with its tail between its legs and hunger in its stomach, but birds are born to follow the sun. There is a chance that a bird would find its way back to me. It’s only horizon-slim, but it’s there. The same cannot be said for dragons. They have their own fire. And that means that they cannot be trusted. Dragons are truly free. They can fly wherever they like. And if I happened to leave the door ajar, I’m afraid that my dragon would have no reason to come back home.
I won’t lie, I’m disappointed. It was a test, you see. Wild horses don’t have a word for freedom. They don’t appreciate what they have, they can’t, because they haven’t lost it yet. All I ever wanted was a grateful unicorn, but I have to accept that I will never see its mane flowing in the wind. That sharp horn is wasted on my unicorn. Everybody knows that freedom can’t be given, you have to take it. But in all these years my unicorn hasn’t tried to pick the lock, not even once. I wanted it to crave the wind, not accept that cage.
I always thought that gryphons didn’t need a lion’s mane because they were odd-eyed cats. And even without a crown, even without the sun’s blessing, their kingdom stretched as far as the eye could see, night and day. But I am not a child anymore, and I can’t keep lying to myself. I have no say in my surroundings. I am the horizon where my gryphon’s kingdom comes to an end. I had a say, even if my voice wasn’t the loudest. And that means that I am to blame for this disappointing, claustrophobic wasteland.
The same amount of matter exists before and after change. I read those words in a textbook once, but I don’t know whether they apply to my phoenix or not. I had a happy childhood. My phoenix died at least 3 times, but I never paid any attention to the ashes. I only had eyes for its bright feathers, and then I grew up. My phoenix has died at least 7 more times since then, and now all I can taste are those ashes. It could be a trick of the light, or maybe it’s just me, but the only word that comes to my mind is loss. I don’t know how many changes I have left in me. All I can say for certain is that I am drowning in ashes, and my phoenix has never felt smaller.
Are you about to grow up? Is this where you will bury your dreams and set your mythical creatures free?
I never felt like an ugly duckling. I never dreamed about white swans. My imaginary friend was a dragon, and he used to reduce other people’s words to ashes. They never stood a chance of reshaping my bones. Thanks to my dragon I had a bright childhood, and I don’t mind paying the price, now that the time to grow up and part ways is here. I won’t have a bright future. But I can still recognize myself in these bones. And I can smile because I know that today I am still be here.
There are things I cannot unsee. I’m running out of magic. Ignorance. Bliss. That’s how I can tell that I’m about to grow up. I know that unicorns are inspired by narwhal tusks and cyclops are built on elephant skulls. I have seen mermaids, the upper halves of monkeys sewn to fish tails. I’m about to lose everything. Don’t try to comfort me. I already know that grown-ups resort to escapism every day. But there is a difference between believing and going to lengths to delude yourself.
Lions are lazy and eagles have too good a vision. Childhood has an expiration date, and I intend to bury all my dreams while they are still safe to pursue. I have no interest in the realities of adulthood, but I will remember my gryphon fondly. Not what could have been. Only what was. Because I haven’t wasted my childhood. I am doing my best. I am a committed dreamer. Till death do us part. The day I grow up. Not a day sooner. I will become jaded and disillusioned, but I won’t drag my dream into my afterlife.
Progress. Evolution. A bright future. I used to picture a stairway to the stars. People learning from past mistakes and striving to better themselves. But there is no such thing as a phoenix that rises from the ashes. There is only fire. Human nature. Ashes that pile up. Up. Up. Pushing us, crushing us a little bit farther from the stars every generation.