Les enfants

This afternoon i made a cognizant effort to be sans thoughts, thoughts that can earn me the brand silly. I took a really long walk wanting to get lost in the summer breeze, tall trees and the smell of cut grass. And happy kids. So i ended my walk with a sit-out at my beautiful neighborhood park that always sparkles with picnics and all sort of celebrations during the weekend.

I sat on a bench and watched children play. Joggers ran by and cyclists circled around, afternoon sun mellowed over the tall maple trees, bees hummed in one last recognition of the day, but they kept on playing.

I couldn't help but think. Did i ever play like that, quand j'étais une petite fille? But i already knew the answer. Non. I was the quiet wondering one, happy to be left in the corner by herself with her books, and she didn't care what book she found, she just read. I suppose i was an odd child. I remember reading big books of religion (written in poems) to our helping hands. As the evening would fall they will gather by the kitchen and i would recite the words from god's own mouth. I was told the said act earned you points with god. Yeah, i did believe in god back then, so i tried to be on his good side. Ha! I remember one night i put my book down and ran crying while reading the part where the demon king stole the princess and the noble bird died protecting her.

How silly of me!

Yes, as a child i lived within myself, often coming alive in the characters of the books. They made me laugh, cry, dream, but most importantly they always let me be myself. Mes amis silencieux. They let me wonder.

Even if i try very hard and go as far in the past as possible, i can't see that girl running around, jumping over fences or rolling in the grass in careless abundance. Granted, i come a long way from then and i have become quite an extrovert. In parties or while giving a talk, or teaching even, i am all outspoken, intense and unabashed. In a nutshell, when i open my mouth, people listen. So no, you won't see even a glimpse of that shy little girl who would like nothing better than to be left alone with her books.

But even though she was not quite like the playful kids that bring me such joy, she was nevertheless the same, eyes full of wonders, mind full of hopes and beliefs that anything is possible. And she is still somewhere in me, manifesting in my silly acts or trusting heart. But i don't let her out often, for this world is a bad bad place for girls like that.

You might have seen her once or twice. Here. Si tu as vu avec les yeux d'un enfant.