Pieces of A Puzzle

24 Dec

Isn’t it funny that life never turns out the way you planned? When my little sister was small she would always be asked what she wanted to be, and she would reply “a fireman” or a “farmer” depending on what Christopher, the boy she was in love with had decided that week. Twenty years on and she doesn’t really speak to Chris anymore, and is working for children’s charity.

As a child, boys were less important to me, after all, I had ambition! I had high dreams of being a ballerina and touring the world with my dancing, and despite having a promising future; i hit my teens and decided against it. I now sit at a desk Monday to Friday and dream of warmer climes. This is especially depressing on a Monday, at four thirty, when its pitch black outside, or as my nana would say, “blacker than a witches cat”. I also thought that by twenty five I would be married with a baby, as this seemed really old for me, and now, at closer to twenty five than twenty four (shudder!) I’m glad this isn’t the case, as the thought of being responsible for someone other than myself fills me with a sinking dread.

And how does time pass so much slower when you are a child? The six weeks of summer holiday stretched before us like the plains of a desert, with no end in sight and wondering when we would see our friends again, yet now six weeks passes in the blink of an eye, summer turning to winter and back again like the fast forward function on a video player.

This scares me. It scares me how much time has gone by, and how little time there is, in the great scheme of things. My promise to myself of definitely doing something significant by the time I am twenty five has now been pushed to definitely having done something significant by the time i get to thirty, and even that is looking doubtful.

My eighteen year old self would have had different thoughts. I was in love, hopelessly caught up in my first relationship, thinking life would never change and why would i want it to? University, work and friends were generally sidelined thanks to this whirlwind romance that I thought would never burn out. But as most things do, it ended after four years with a bang, and with hindsight this was a good thing for me.

But today, I stumbled across an article written by a girl of eighteen, and it struck a chord. She discussed the merits of love, and how she was strong in the belief that love was going to swoop down on her, and transform her black and white life into technicolour, like an artist paints the a blank canvas. And it made me smile. However rational we believe we are, and however whimsical we can allow her to be, a little bit of each and every one of us secretly hopes that she may be right. We all want someone who thinks we are the funniest, prettiest and smartest girl in the world, despite being all modern and feminist. Whether it be life, or experience, or travel that turns our lives from being plain and simple to oh so fantastic, if you haven’t got it already, the pieces will eventually fit.

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