Photo by Michelle Weber via The Daily Post
Write a post based on this image, they said, and so many people did… and so I was clothed in words, accessorised with projections, thought about, dreamed about, fantasised about and… yes, I inspired fingers to write about me, but no one knows me… I am lost in words.
I was minding my own business, perched on the edge of a merry-go-round, hanging on for dear life with my small yet strong hands. Wearing clothes which I had not chosen for myself…
Stop it writer!
How do you know I did not choose my clothes, you’re just deciding that based on the fact that you find Hello Kitty annoying. But you once liked Hello Kitty, didn’t you, and then Hello Kitty hurt you and so you stopped liking her…
Yes, it is my turn to make things up about you. Do you like it?
No? Because it is not true? Oh… so why would you think that I like you making things up about me? Because I am a muse to you and I should appreciate the attention you are paying to me? Do I look like I want this kind of attention to you? I am minding my own business… why don’t you mind yours, I think it needs some attention too, don’t you?
Who is this little girl, they ask. How do they know I’m a girl? And so what if I am, maybe I think I’m a little boy, maybe I don’t think about my gender at all, perhaps I am too young for such limiting thoughts, perhaps I have yet to decide who and what I want to be… or perhaps I know and won’t share such a private thing with strangers, and especially with grown ups.
Grown ups always demand that children respect them, but children learn respect from grown ups… and grown ups don’t always deserve the respect they demand, especially considering how they often treat children, like me, like things… things to project their own selves onto and into… then they are surprised when we rebel.
Oh yes, I am a rebel and the photographer taking this picture does not know it… or maybe they do, they recognised themselves in me and snap, snap… post picture on internet… picture ends up being loved by many, for many relate to it, and it ends up in a writing challenge, and many write about it… and so I am lost in words.
If I ever grow up, and I haven’t decided to do so yet… not sure if I want to… if it is worth it… perhaps I will find this challenge and all the posts written about this picture of me. What will I think of you, dear writers using me when I was a child as a muse, I wonder. Will I remember this moment? Will I remember what it actually meant to me, if it meant anything at all?
I wonder… minding my own business… lost in words.