As a kid, I never liked carnivals and amusement parks. It’s a make-believe field of fake and short-lived emotions where you create a bubble of happiness, court danger or conquer your fear.
Or maybe as a writer, I am just overwhelmed by its metaphors and ironies.
The carousel whose sick cycle spins you thoughtless but gets you nowhere. You delight in its blur until reality snaps back into clear view.
The ferris wheel, an imposing symbol of the highs and danger of life’s up and the disappointments and fleeting hope of life’s low.
The horror train where you scream your lungs out only to find out that the real horror awaits outside and by then you can scream no more.
The clown whose smile is too wide to be true. Then you see the droopy sad eyes and the hurt from a joke that was on them.
The wishing well which gives you a stab at chance and destiny. But looking at your coin join others in its watery grave, you realize it meant things will come with a price.
The toy store that has every kid’s whim and fancy but will never be big enough to satiate their caprice.
The game booths where your odds at winning is slightly higher than your odds at finding love.
The princess whose beauty almost hypnotizes you to take her out of her forsaken castle. But the knight in tarnished armor that you are sees the safety in captivity, away from the din and sin of the free world. You end up adoring her from a distance and she’ still hoping for that someday when her prince will come.
You exhaust your ticket to ride inside the park. Then the music stops, the colors fade to darkness and the magic dissipates.
You exit and look back.
You realize that everything was a just play of color and light. In hindsight, nothing is what it seems.
***
This is an aftermath of finishing the book “The Fault In Our Stars.” It sent me in an emotional tailspin. This cancer from loving too much and risking too little.
Photo credits: www.fineartamerica.com
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