This is part of a writing challenge. Click here to read more about it.
Often, I find myself looking back upon my childhood extremely fondly. Perhaps in part because being a child full of innocence and imagination is fantastic, but also in part because it’s been long enough to be able to enjoy and appreciate my oddities. My childhood is filled with many stories that I created in my head, and many instances where I convinced myself certain things were real. I spent many nights helping a blue fairy in the dark. When her wings got stuck and she had nowhere to go, I promise you, I was the one who saved her.
One December night, when my extended family was in town, I was dislocated from the comfort of my own bed. I ended up sleeping on a mattress on the first floor of our house, right next to a giant window. I spent what seemed like hours, waiting for sleep to come over me, but to no avail. Frustrated and disappointed, I lay there staring out the window. Time moved slower than ever, and my other cousins lay asleep all around me. I kept staring. Suddenly, in the literal blink of an eye, a flash blinded me. I lay there with my eyes shut because of the pain for a few minutes. Then, slowly rubbing my eyes, I dared open them. A bright flash of red met my eyes, and I was greeted with, I kid you not, Santa’s Sleigh. It was right there, before my very own eyes. It was enormous! It had to be to fit all the presents, but it was also empty, no sign of human life around it. I couldn’t see the reindeers though I strained myself in every conceivable position. But, regardless there it was, a sleigh full of presents. Right in front of me.
Now, I recognize that that story may seem insane, far-fetched, a child’s wild imagination, and you know what, it probably was. But to this day, every time I think about that night, I see it right in front of me, clear as day. Humongous, red and full of presents.
As a kid, I also really enjoyed spending time on the fifth floor of our apartment complex. That’s where the garden/play ground was. If you’re imagining me playing with other little kids, you would be entirely wrong. For some reason, the other kids didn’t enjoy hanging out with me too much, or perhaps at all.
So, I would either collect different flowers and make jewelry out of it, or I would collect different leaves and plants, crush them with rocks and pretend to make potions. Yes, you heard me right. As an eight-year-old with a very active imagination, I would pretend my four-year-old sister was either a witch who had to be eliminated or a bunny that had been poisoned by said witch. I don’t really know how the logistics worked, but I’m pretty sure I tried multiple time to get her to eat my mashed up leaf paste. My parents never really let me get close enough though, I wonder why.
There was also a phase in my childhood where I really badly wanted to master tree climbing. I would walk up to this one specific tree, confidently, every single day. I would stare it down and make my way to the base of it. Then, I’d grab on to the lowest hanging branch and before I could hoist myself up (which by the way, I could not due to the lack of upper body strength), some form of tree sap or insect would fall on me, entirely convincing me that I was now going to die a very slow and painful death. Spoiler Alert: I never did die, or actually ever manage to climb a tree.
I also, really enjoyed swimming, a lot. I would spend hours in the pool by myself, and pretend I was a mermaid watching the sun light hit the water. I loved watching the water ripple and the light breaking the surface and transforming into a kaleidoscope of colors underwater as it broke into a million pieces. It was easily one of the most beautiful things I’d seen. I set “mermaid challenges” for myself to deem I was worthy to be a princess or a professional diver, I don’t really remember. But I do distinctly remember thinking that if I swam well enough, one day, my legs would turn into a beautiful tail. Then, finally, I’d be a mermaid. Again, that never happened. I’m still really bummed about it.
I would spend my nights reading books of imaginary lands filled with magic and friendships, and I would spend my days trying to find that in my own world. I would open random doors, check for false back on wardrobes and step on the different tiles and bricks hoping that something would change. Hoping that something would make my life special, something that would make me special.
Looking back now, I’m fully aware that my childhood was filled with creativity, and magic and constant imagination. I was free to think as I wanted and my mind was often where I felt most comfortable. The world around me wasn’t always ideal. I remember being extremely shy for the first 12 years of my life. I may have seemed talkative but I wasn’t comfortable there. I was comfortable here, in the worlds that I created.
Over time, I think I had convinced myself that I had changed and that I no longer needed those worlds because my real world was so amazing. But the truth is, I always had those worlds stored away for a rainy day, and honestly, I still feel most comfortable there. I just explore them differently now.
I explore my imagination when I read books and stories, poems and creations. I explore my imagination when I create random storylines in bathroom mirrors of situations that will never occur. I explore them in my dreams, and in my hypotheticals.
However, I still live there through my writing, and in the stories that I tell.
~ Prisha Khimavat ~
Duration: 43 minutes and 21 seconds
Leave a Reply