Fall from the Pedestal
Now that the weekend's here, and I seem to have time, I decided to read. More specifically, revisit some of my childhood's most cherished books, which i have consumed and re-consumed with relish each time I ever read them (seriously. Harry Potter was read from start to finish no less than 70 times. Narnia comes a close second)
My growing disquiet about a lot of things in the past few years, culminated in an awful shock when i began. Come what may, no matter how tedious and boring and absolute suffering I went through in the day or week, these books always had my back. However, now that I read them once more (almost 3 years since I had read them at all) I find myself irritated, irritated that I actually spent hours and hours reading this stuff. It's no longer the cool shade of a tree, the hug of a friend. It is almost as if I am an alien, who finds these books mildly amusing, all the while smirking to myself saying - Really? This is what I used to love and was ready to die for? How silly was I?
Perhaps I truly am old (a fact that none of my beloved friends ever disagree about. I am old is the new explanation of this decade) or perhaps I know too much of this cruel world? Or perhaps I am growing dumber each day? These questions plague me from time to time.
For example, Narnia - the beautiful landscapes, the talking animals, the great lion, the serious adult like behavior of them all, while mesmerizing when I was young, now seems silly. I keep referring to the fact that the author meant for the lion to be a deity of a major world religion, and how the women in the story were treated. (most of them were witches, and all witches are bad). I also rue the fact that there were so many unexplained mysteries, like those of Ramandu, and the other star (forgot his name). What are the sins that a star can commit? The last book in particular dealt a lot with religion, and seems too deep, and misplaced in a children's book. Perhaps I am wrong. Perhaps I have grown too cynical? In any case, at this rate, I will also be a friend of Narnia no more, (which is sad)
Then there's Enid Blyton. Oh! How I adored her! I would read each book of her's with anticipation, agree wholeheartedly with all the characters, hate anyone who George hated (of the famous five fame), salivate at the thought of their picnic lunches, midnight swims (St. Clairs anyone?) , wait with bated breath for the seven find outers to find things out! Now that I know what each food item looks like and what it's made of, (having tasted a few) , I can't say I found them appetizing in the least. The whole concept of kids going out on their own, and talking to adults like these tots actually had a say in matters is just laughable. *sigh*
I could list so many more. I just don't want to. I feel sad. I feel like a part of me is lost. A tiny piece of me has died, or is dying somewhere cold, lonely and horrible.
I cannot turn it back. I guess I can't. Now I am in the search for new adventures and lives to live. Someday, perhaps when I am much older than now - ready to die, I might actually like them again.
Let's hope I write more soon!