I watched Hunger Games this evening. The second part of The Mockingjay. I feel like we don’t give that serie enough appreciation. Hunger games showed us reality and it was raw and heartbreaking. It was a world were the mistakes we make today had got us consequences. It teached us something people need to know.
“You don’t inherit the Earth from your parents. You borrow it from your kids.”
It’s really a great serie. Don’t you people remember it?
Anyways, the ending of the serie is very beautiful. Truly worth everything before it. It showed us something too, but that you had to see by yourself. It made me sad. Not so much that I cried from it, but I keep thinking about it and when I do it’s hard to smile for real. Somehow it made me nostalgic. I guess that is the most negative and painful feeling right now, when I am in an age where I have to find myself. I keep looking back. I keep try to remember when I was that person. And when I stopped.
For a while ago, I was searching our basement for something because we have all kinds of things here and it’s a mess. And I found a pink box with a layer of dust on it. It contained all my barbie dolls, all their clothes and furniture and their plastic bodies with a thin waist and a dead smile. It was like a flashback. They had to be more than ten years old, yet they looked exactly the same. Hadn’t lost a hair, gained a pound, or even getting tired of smiling. They had laid there in the darkness, alone, without me. And suddenly I remembered all the times before that. I remembered when I used shampoo to wash their fake hair. I remembered my favourite dress, blue and silver with small pink details, barely covering the hips. I remembered fixing with them, playing with them, I remembered that I created their lives once. But I couldn’t remember when I left them. The time they got stuffed into a giant pink box and then stored away into a room. I couldn’t remember why either, because I had loved those damn dolls. I had loved playing with them, fixing with them. Their lives was my life and they took hours of hours out of it. So why did they get abandoned? I already knew. It was because I was growing up. Because I became too old for the dolls. Suddenly they weren’t mine any longer. I wasn’t obligated to have them. I wasn’t a child anymore. And then I remembered the pain. The first time ever in my life when I didn’t just wait for the future, but when I actually wanted time to slow down. To hold the moments, because they weren’t coming back. And I didn’t understand why. Why was time so cruel? Why did it force me away from my childhood? Why didn’t it let me be happy?
I was down even when I just looked at the box. It was making me flashback to all those early things and they made me down. But despite that I picked it up. Blew away the dust, opened it and watched the dolls. Then I took everything into my room. I thought, what the hell? Time has fucked me already. I just need a goodbye. So I placed the box on the carpet on the floor and started packing it up. Doll after doll, dresses and hair brushes and heels and furniture. A table. A bed. Then more dolls. I watched all the faces I hadn’t seen in so many years and realised that I hadn’t forgotten. I never had let them go. So I decided to play. Just this time. For me and for them and for the other me, the small girl who missed her beloved dolls. I found my favourite barbie and dressed her into my favourite dress and then I took some more of the dolls and got them ready, like it was a big show. Their hair was just as shiny as it used to be but I still brushed it and styled it. It felt right. Worthy of them.
When they were all as perfect and beautiful and shells of great memories from the past, I was gonna start playing. Time to find a personality. A person. A soul. A life. And I thought about it a lot. And I hadn’t any ideas. So I switched my way of thinking one time, two times, three times, but I still didn’t know the doll’s life. I couldn’t imagine it. I looked down at her. My favourite. Plastic smile, big eyes with too much makeup on, fluffy blond hair. She looked happy. I wasn’t. For the first time since my eyes saw the box I understood how long it had been. And everything that had changed. Not only my life. The deepest me was someone else these days. It was a girl who fought but didn’t find a purpose, it was a girl who knew but still was lost, it was a girl who loved but still was lonely. It was a person that had forgotten how to play with barbie dolls. A person that had stopped missing her dolls because she grew up and they couldn’t come with her. I actually had let them go. I had let them off a long time ago. They weren’t even mine any longer. They still belonged to the girl who took care of them. The girl who missed them and cried for them. The girl that was gone. And suddenly I almost cried. Because I wished more than anything that they would have stayed with her. I knew she would need them when the following years was coming up. I knew she one day would be me, a person who didn’t need them. And I didn’t want her to. She was still so young. So happy.
But they weren’t hers. They were walking out of her life and into a box stuffed into a messy room, they left her to grow up alone and then suddenly stop miss them. They left her to become what I was now. They left her to find another happiness, which she did. They left her to find hope, which she didn’t. They left her to all those nights when she cried herself to sleep. They left her.
Goodbye for today.