One step forward. I felt heavy in the light airiness as the world gave way.


I was on my hands and knees crying from the fall I took attempting to take my first step. Arms were around me, comforting me, stroking my head, lifting me up and onto the shoulders that smelled wonderfully like home. Soon, I was walking on my own, running. The noons that brought Dad home for lunch. Of Tarzan and afternoon naps.

School was queer at first, with all the little curious faces, crying faces. I found joy in putting colors onto outlines of pretty princesses and I did not go a single day without my colored pencils and coloring books. I was weaving magic and life into a dream world. A proud achievement that I shared with Mom and Dad daily. Being able to read brought me to even dreamier and twisted places of fairytale, folklore, legends and mythology.

As I got older, school gave me the world in the form of an Atlas and stories in the form of histories. I went from my home to ride with Genghis Khan in Mongolia, to walk with the Dalai Lama in Tibet1, and to run away with Anastasia2.


The years flashed by in a swirl of romanticism. There was no pain that I had so long associated with, that had weighed down my heart every step of the way. Is it only at the end that we remember the sweet and we lived the in-between’s drenched in bitterness?

30 years of old movie set on a screen of a tumbling world from the ledge down.

Then I hit the ground.

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