I am presently reading the book “Anne of Green Gables” and fell in love with it. For the first time in my life, I felt having an imagination was not a bad thing at all. I found myself relating to Anne so much except for one thing – I dont talk one by millionth of what she does. I believe the author herself must have been quite imaginative or she couldnt write about Anne so well. People with an imagination can be so helplessly lost in their thoughts and imaginations and I could very well see how Anne could not be blamed for making all the mistakes she does. Mistakes and imagination go hand in hand thats for sure!
I remembered all the wild imaginations I let myself have even as a little kid. As a child of 6 or 7 I used to imagine we had a bad case of monster attack in our family and it is actually a monster who took the appearance of my mother and that my real mother was hidden somewhere underground in a den. After a few days of imagining this, I actually began to believe it and remind myself this was not the real Mother so I should be careful. Not that I loved her any little but well when you are a little child it is easy to believe in things than when you are a grown up. This was my biggest secret and I never repeated it before now. But reading the book has brought back all those memories now.
As I grew older I used to read the Archie Comics a lot and imagined the whole Riverdale city was on the backside of my bed and in the nights I imagined going there in reduced size(to fit the lower part of my bed) as a new student.
When I felt sleepless in nights, I’d happily tell myself I have a whole lot of time to imagine things. No wonder I sleep so much later in the night after going to bed. There was something or the other every night. Sometimes its about a boy like Harry Potter (who came into existence long before the actual Harry Potter and hence was not magical) who was either adopted or had a Father who hated him cause his Mother died when he was born. I dont know why I always made it that way! Its like trying to get sympathy. I must admit I have a really bad case of wanting sympathy cause sometiumes I imagine I get Brain Tumor and everyone I knew would come to visit me and tell me nice things about me – this was after I realised imagining my ghost coming back after death to hear the good things said about me was too far fetched.
Romance played a part too now and then. There would be someone in this world somewhere who looked at the Moon same time I did or listened to the same song as me with the same feelings and thoughts and smile on face. And one day we’d cross paths with each other and immediately recognise our bonding and meant-to-be-togetherness.
And sometimes it is my marriage – I would be dressed in a big white gown like Maria was in The Sound of Music and my fellow would wait for me at the end of the aisle admiring me with a beautiful smile on his face- somehow I couldnt get myself to imagine me in Sari with all the ornaments – it takes away all the goodness out of it. Sigh I wish I dont sound too unpatriotic when I say that but there is no harm in admiring good things whichever country it originated in is there now?
And when I realise I am totally unfit for marriage and what a drag it might be after the actual day when I wear the white gown, I become more realistic. So then I imagine myself becoming a writer like I always wanted to be and making a living out of it and adopting a 2 year old girl who I’d name Vinnie and both of us having a marvelous time together – we’d do just everything together!
Oh well… its just a handful of things… actually its millions of handfuls! But well it is really not your fault that you go and get lost in your imagination. I wish people understood that. Cause I dont think these things up for the sake of thinking them up (unless it is to be realistic and I have to think of what to do in future – and so I think of Vinnie). I just slip into these thoughts and live some moments there, tell my lines and hear the imagined/real characters tell theirs in my mind before a lot of time passes by and I bring myself back to the real world with a lot of effort.
Oh well (think I already said that), reading about Anne Shirley was a nice thing – cause everyone likes Anne despite her wild imaginations. So maybe there are chances that people might actually like me despite being such a weirdo.