I don't recall the time when I started to feel it evaporate into thin air. It was a slow-moving, gradual process. LIke when you let a handful of sand slip through your fingers, one grain at a time.
I remember the time that I used to laugh about almost everything when I was little. It seemed like everything was just right; perfect: my toys, my room and my clothes. I had almost nothing to think about besides the little homework I got and the had an hour of piano that I had to practice everyday. I was having the happiest and possibly the most delightful time of my life. Being an innocent eight-year-old, I was convinced that this contentment would last me a lifetime and that it would never cease. Well, I eventually realized that I was wrong.
It is not that I am not happy anymore, or that I do not enjoy life any longer; I guess it is a sign of maturity that comes with experiences and growth. It was the fact that everything seemed perfect to me when I was younger. A fairytale, with a prince sweeping me off my feet, parents that supported me no matter how different I was from others, and the world seemed more put together. Like there was hope in this world to achieve greatness. As I grew older I started to take more notice of my surroundings and questioned everything around me. I wondered why there was always an old man in rags by the sidewalk that I used to pass everyday. I remember distinctly how intrigued I was the first time I saw him. It was just before sunset, and after observing him for a few minutes, I did not understand why he was sitting in the streets when everyone else was heading home or why he kept thrusting a torn cup in the face of every pedestrian. So I approached him and asked curiously why he was still wandering around and not heading home like everyone else. I waited patiently for his response, but it never came. But I did manage to catch that awkward smile he wore and the uneasiness that he showed while lifting his feet. Of couse, I did not understand the reason for his silence until a few years later, when I finally came to the understanding of many things that truly confounded me in my childhood.
I understood why people looked on with disgust when two girls are walking down the street, holding hands. I understood why my peers talked and gossiped about the prettiest girl in class. Images from magazines made me understand why girls have to be skinny.
As I grew older, I became more aware of the amount of unfairness and prejudice and the number of stereotypes that surround me. Now, I discover that I am no longer that naive eight-year-old. I will never return to the point where I thought that the entire world is perfect and that everyone is equal because I have lost the bluntness of a child's mind, or the uncorrupted honesty that children posses, or simply the childlike innocence that we all once had in us. Whatever it was, it is gone. Lost, bit by bit. And I, as a result, have changed and never will be the same.
