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| photo from http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2012/may/04/le-petit-prince-pages-auction |
I have arrived at a frightening conclusion that I just might be a murderer, and that each person around me or even someone far away from me is one, too. Even you.
Don’t get me wrong. One does not need knives, guns, or nuclear bombs to be a murderer. Sometimes, without one knowing it, one has already killed. Sure, we don’t stab people or shoot them, or make their bodies explode. Maybe we are not physically hurting anyone. But we kill hopes and dreams, even our own. Is that so much of a difference?
This realization came to me when, in our creative writing class, we were told to recall our favorite story as a child and try to change its ending. I picked Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s “The Little Prince.” I chose to disregard the 27th chapter, the last one, and to replace it with an epilogue.
This is what I wrote:
“I have a confession to make. There was no desert; there was no other planet that was the home of a talking rose; there was no little prince. Better put, I was the little prince.
“Everything existed in my mind. The ‘child I’ was the little prince talking to the lost navigator that is the ‘I now.’ If the theory of the multiverse is indeed true, and if the ‘child I’ would be able to meet the ‘I now,’ he would be disappointed. He would remind me of things I was sure of—things I believed in and things I loved. Faith and feelings are nothing but empty words now. Certainly, I am not what he envisioned himself to be.
“There were times when I let the little prince lead me. It is funny how he seems to know where to go and how to go about things more than I could. Only the children know what they are looking for, right? Somehow, it reassures me to say that I was once a kid. We all were. But growing up is inevitable and in the process, most of us have lost our identities. We let ourselves be defined by people who don’t really matter. We allow ourselves to be consumed by the world that is only concerned with wealth, fame and power. The world is a big poisonous snake—when it bites you, you’re dead. I let the little prince die in the same way you killed the happy child in you. We murder dreams and later on complain about dissatisfaction. Then we blame everything and everyone but ourselves without realizing that this is a choice we’ve made. This is our sad reality and this will be the reality of all people if we let it be this way.
“Do me a favor. Tell and retell this story to every child you know. Tell them to look at themselves carefully so that they will be sure to recognize it even after many years. It might be too late for us but not for them. I am writing this note under the laughing stars and I know somewhere, my star is shining bright. The little prince, the ‘child I,’ is proud of me.”
What made me want to change the ending this way is the symbolism I found in the story. Take, for example, the character of the little prince. He embodies every child—he loves adventures, tries to make sense of everything, and believes that one can find a true friend in a flower or a wild animal, then allows himself to get attached to them. These are obviously non-adult things. A grownup is too busy worrying, is hopelessly agreeing to what others tell him to do, and is pitifully detaching himself from matters of real importance. Such is the attitude of the lost and stranded navigator.
Life’s like a plane; adults are like careless pilots. The pilot takes control and becomes more and more confident as the plane gets higher and higher. He tries to maintain a specific height from the ground. Then he realizes he forgot the map and now he doesn’t know his destination and then he starts to panic. It turns out that the good takeoff was just part of the whole projectile motion. If he’s lucky enough, he’d be alive somewhere he never wanted to be at, with his plane that’s too damaged to be fixed.
Life’s like that. It turns out to be a piece of junk when it crashes. As far as reaching one’s dream is concerned, skill and direction should go together. It is not enough that one knows what one should be doing; it is also important that one knows where one is going. Although here’s the thing: Skill and direction don’t usually come in a complete package. The first is a grownup’s possession, the latter is a kid’s. For this reason, it is highly significant that you let the child in you live.
But why do you choose to leave that dreaming child behind? Why do you prefer to let him die? Maybe it’s this: We don’t want to be reminded of the things we’ve come to believe that we can’t have. Some say dreams are for carefree children who don’t have to pay the monthly bills; they are for people who don’t have many responsibilities. Maybe the truth is, it really hurts us inside to realize that what seemed to be so real and close when we were young are too distant now. Our dreamt realities from yesterday have become the impossibilities of today and tomorrow. We silently mourn the loss, and consciously or unconsciously encourage others to do likewise. We kill dreams; we murder what could have become real.
If you happen to meet the younger you, what can possibly happen? Two things I can think of: He/she will tell you how proud he/she is for you, or he/she will give you a warm, comforting hug and whisper, “Go on. Fix your plane. It’s never too late.”
Are you still preparing for takeoff? Make sure to bring everything that you truly need. Did your plane already crash right before your eyes? Get up and don’t lose hope. If you don’t want to stay where you landed, start figuring out where you’d rather be. If you’re finally sure of where that place is, make a move. Do it now.
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