FOLKLORE

“Do people really find true love?” Walter asks his father, the innocence characteristic of a four-year-old gleaming in his eyes. His father blinks rapidly, but Walter hasn’t developed the sensitivity to grasp and understand subtle body language. After some trepidation, his father replies, “Yes, they do, with time and patience. You will, too.”

Unfortunately, there is a good, if that is the appropriate word to be used, chance Walter will not find true love. It is a very specific emotional experience and is not abundantly available. In his father’s defense, crushing the hopes of a child is not a particularly attractive alternative, so I understand why he said what he said. What is worrying, is that even when he grows up, movies and television series will continue to feed the true love narrative to him. You know, some of us are just not the main characters, but we are always led to believe that we are. After all, fairytales are very telling of the reality we live in.

“Why does Quill want to grow older and leave the house? Is he not safer living with us?” Amore, only nine, asks her grandmother after her elder brother throws a fit. Smiling ear to ear, the corners of her eyes crinkling, she says, “Amore, he wants to be free. To make his own decisions, to earn money and spend it his own way. He seeks independence.”

I genuinely wish I could ask Amore’s grandmother to not paint such a beautiful image of adulthood. Beyond the independence, there is endless responsibility. Waking up in the morning and having to decide if you should do laundry first, or go grocery shopping, or clean your room, is a task in itself, but additionally you need to meet deadlines and attend social events. The water pressure of your shower is pathetic and your mailman has misdelivered your letters. The bank is asking you to add money to your account because the balance is too low, but you haven’t been paid for your work yet. You only have a two-day long weekend, if that. Believe it or not, Amore is in for disappointment.

“I will never work at a place that treats me badly. My job will be my passion.” Twelve-year-old Sasha declares adamantly, as her older cousins complain about their nine-to-five schedules. They look at her sadly but are hesitant to tell her the reality. And so, they nod.

As a child, it is difficult to understand why millions of people are earning money doing something they hate. Rationally, it makes no sense. Rationally, they should pursue their hobbies as a career, and live contently. At this point, someone should tell children about the thousands of writers, musicians, painters, entrepreneurs who tried it and failed. Agreed, a dreadful, monotonous job is not their first choice, but our life simply isn’t as easy as making our passion our source of living.

“Friends. Money. Stability. Love. Is that all I need to be happy?” Diara questions at their mental wellbeing session in Year 12 of school. The speaker is impressed that at her age, Diara has it figured out and wants to encourage her. “Good relationships and stability are sufficient to make you happy. As you grow older, it will fall into place. You’ll see.”

Would she, though? Don’t get me wrong. As someone who relies on my support system heavily, I absolutely understand its importance. But is it enough? Is it even consistent? Is it available to everyone? Also, what is stability? Is life ever stable? Who answers these questions, truthfully, before it’s too late and you’re faced with crisis?

Experience may be the best teacher, but it does not need to be painful because you’ve been misled during your formative years. All the stories are, in fact, not true. It is folklore. It has been passed down generations, the same chapters, a different order. You’re told every aspect of life comes together like a puzzle manufactured to be solved by amateurs. You’re not told that there are always a few pieces missing, a few that belong to another set and those that fit but make the tapestry look distorted. It is only when you’re in your twenties and thirties and nothing is going your way, that you wish it had been different. No lies, no picture perfect worlds.

“Coddle me so that I do not grow terrified of living my own life but feed me the bitter truth such that I am not left broken and lost.”