wanderlust

A Letter Full Of Reminders From Our Inner Child

Photo by  Alex De Mora

Photo by Alex De Mora

Dear Adults,

I hope all of you are doing great. I didn’t want to bother you with my words. But, trust me, it was urgent and I had no other way to express myself.

I am a child.

Sometimes I am Malala and other times I can be Malia Obama. You may also find me being spoon fed by the servants of the great monarch – who earn more than you do in a desk job. You may also come across a few of us mothering our mothers and earning for our fathers. Some of us can sit for hours in the classroom, while others barely manage to sit attentive on their toilet seats.

I am the child within you. I am the child you once were. I am your past. These words of mine are a letter from your past.

Few days ago, I had no intention of writing these words to you. But, then I realised that balancing the adult that you are, with the child that you were, is equally important. And no one seems to give it much thought.

Painting by Dino Valls

Painting by Dino Valls

My dear Adults,
Remember, when I was a little voice inside you. Remember, when you were a child so fragile. Do you remember how humiliated you felt when one of those adults mistreated the maids and servants working for them? Why did you feel humiliated on their degradation? And can you recall your five years old self, trembling whenever someone dropped their groceries and despite all the influence of superhero comics and movies, it was the purity inside, which made you tremble. Do you feel nostalgic about the way you accelerated with joy whenever your best friend won something which you couldn’t. How easier it was to let go all that competition. The glory of your best friend washed away all your failures and gave you an illusion of victory.
And do you remember, how as a child you examined each and every part of the meal that you ate. Those adults wondered what took you so long to eat, but you could never explain your wonder to them. The little bugs did no less wonders than greatest magicians making visual illusions. Those little bugs still exist but you never notice. Can you recall now? Can you recall how it was being a child?

Dear adults, I am just a kid and I am in no position of accusing you. But, I saw what you did today!

Do not ask me how. I might be looking at you from the busy streets of New York or down from the dark, shabby buildings of Karachi. I am inside your hearts. I am the close cousin of your conscience.

Unknown artist

Unknown artist

I saw what you did today and frankly, I still get chills while you humiliate your employees.
I cry inside the little corner of your insecure heart when you plot against your co-workers.
I scream “Stop!” , every time you carelessly chew and gulp away the considerately cooked food.
I look at the lonely mothers and the unexpressive fathers sitting alone in waiting rooms of the hospitals. Can’t you accompany them in a procedure that might make them anxious?
I look at the dull walls of your workplace and all I instantly want to do is, splash some color, I do not know why, maybe you can interpret that for me, you smart adult!

I am the child inside you! And I am so disappointed that you stopped feeling me as you grew up. I want to remind you of yourself but you are so tall and far away to pay attention to my little voice inside your heart.

I know that adulthood is taking a toll on you. I know that you are hurt. No one can be unhappy on success of a friend unless he or she is torn and hurt.

I know you get tired of trying or else, no one want to waste their energy competing against someone out of spite fullness.
I know you would never hurt your loved ones. You would never have said all these harsh words to your loved ones – if you weren’t on the receiving side of the inconsiderate and competitive world.
I know that sometimes you harm other humans just to prove your love for one person – no matter how incredibly stupid I think it is.
I know how it is, when you desperately need a purpose in your life and you end up destroying someone’s life just to feel important and purposeful.
I know that sometimes you seek malice just to protect the ones you love.
I know how temptation can overpower you and then how you don’t have the guts to honestly accept or confess your temptation. I understand how your lies make your one time temptation in to a long journey of deceit and pain.

Do you want to stop all this negativity?
Then, please, listen to me. Listen to the child inside.

I am envious of the authority which comes with adulthood and I am so jealous that you have it. But, when I see you doing all these things and not listening to me, I do not feel like saying anything to you.
Would you please pay attention to me – your childhood with all its purity inside you?

Painting by Tamayoshi Sakamoto

Painting by Tomoyoshi Sakamoto

Some of the Aunts and Uncles act irresponsibly and spend a life of irrationality, mindless impulsiveness – calling it “being in touch with the child inside”. On behalf of all children, I protest that notion. The child inside is all about purity. The child inside is not a hiding place; rather it’s a guiding place.

I am not a healing place. I am not the voice of reason or morality, I am just a child who cannot help but make noise every time you pinch me with all your adult irrationality.
I want nothing but magic, stars, waves, color, music, rhythm, peace, sparkle, butterflies, fun, care and love in your life. And I feel dissatisfied when you don’t feed me all that. I start having withdrawal symptoms.
Is it really difficult to wake me up and live with me?
I feel that the only person you know best is your childhood-self. You can never forget me, isn’t it? Aren’t I a part of most of your intimate conversations?
Then why not make me a part of your life?. Why not give me all the positivity that I need?
Please, don’t let me die.
The world can only be saved by the child inside you. I am your super hero. I am your evolution. I am your breathing space.
So, please.

Loads of sparks!
Sincerely,
The Child

Submitted to ArtParasites by Mark Anthony Jacobson