Once upon a time, I was fearless.
I acted on every impulse, whether it was wise or not.
I smiled kindly at passing strangers.
I always voiced my opinions, usually loudly and with no filter.
I was scrappy. I had spunk.
I knew there was really nothing to be afraid of in the dark:
No monsters lurked inside my closet,
the only things under my bed were dust bunnies,
and the weird noises I heard at night was just the wind passing through.
See, I was oddly fearless… once upon a time. I was awfully care-free.
Now, when I reflect on that short stretch of time, I can only note the irony:
While some people grew out of their childhood delusions, I grew into mine.
As the years passed, the threat of monsters became real.
The darkness began to awaken sinister shadows.
Strange faces looked less friendly.
And speaking up, finding my voice, became a challenge.
As the years passed, I saw things I wish I had never seen,
and I met people I wish I’d never meet.
What once was pleasant became twisted,
and the things that used to make sense now baffles me.
How is possible that I’m shrinking as I grow?
I look to my former self, my younger self, as a better version of “me”.
Care-free and audacious. Young-spirited and defiant.
I wish for that old flame to awaken inside me again.
I wish it would flicker until it becomes a brilliant fire, one that burns brightly within my soul.
I’d then move freely and sing loudly and dream dangerously and act daringly again.
The muzzle around my mouth would be broken.
The chains I bounded around my own feet and wrists would break free.
I’ll be fearless once more.
– Sasha Rampersaud
