Something Beautiful

I know I said I wouldn't blog for a while, but stuff it. Writing is my release and unless I write when I'm in the mood, my writing just won't be the same.

Today I woke up with a sore ankle, and it being Thursday, aerobics day, I decided it best if I perhaps stayed home. I was, although, well enough to accompany my mum in taking my brother to school. The school was holding a special presentation, showcasing their best works, performances and dances. It is a relatively new school established only a few years ago. The eldest grade reaching only to the fifth; had only four boys in the whole class. Yet it failed to lack any less a sense of community like those of much larger schools. Its young pupils were active, possibly feeding of the energy of their enthusiastic teachers, or maybe it was the other way around. The stigma of that first day of school was ditched for the joys of being with other kids their age, learning and working towards the 'student of the week' promotion.

It had been years since my days at primary school that I had forgotten what it was like. Paper Mache humpty dumpty's hung from the ceiling like trophies. Pieces of work cascaded the walls like that of a doctor's office exhibiting his certificates of qualification.

But what dredged the most forgotten of memories was in looking at the children. There was...

Something beautiful about being so innocent.

Something beautiful about their eagerness to learn.

Something beautiful about wanting to purchase a book from the book fair.

Something beautiful about fitting into such tiny clothes.

Something beautiful about having a big heart for such a small person.

Something beautiful about having your four front teeth missing and still having the audacity to mingle with the boys.

Something beautiful about rushing to eat so you can have more play time.

Something beautiful about being so carefree.

I realised that these were qualities everyone, including myself, once possessed; but we lost bit by bit with everyday that we transitioned into high school. We don't want to do our homework because it's nerdy to get awards, uncool to get the top marks. We don't want to be caught dead reading a book assigned from our English teacher, let alone for our own personal pleasure because that's boring, stupid and a waste of time. We don't want to come across as overly nice because other people will take advantage of us, like make us do their homework, continually ask for food and money, or put us down to make themselves feel better about themselves because after all they're 'just joking and we know they love us'. We wear our insecurities on our sleeves, and wear down the spirit of our friends because we feel ugly, fat, or just not in the mood. We don't want to face the boys until we've fixed our hair, glossed our lips, lined our eyes, blushed our cheeks, straightened our hair, had our nails done, updated our bitchy attitude and lost 10 kilograms. What has become of us?

If that's all a compulsory part of growing up, I'd do anything to become a kid again. The most of my worries would extend to whom to play with when your best friend is away, sick with the chicken pox? These days, it's what will you be when you grow up, boyfriends will only - and ONLY distract you from your studies, begging for money to buy an outfit for the party this weekend and how to look like those models who flood the pages of magazines, contradicting their articles about being happy with yourself.

It's good to be a kid at heart. For a few minutes we're able to relive what it was like to have something beautiful. I still like to look at the clouds and find formations of pictures, no matter how way off other people may think they are. Today I seriously considered purchasing a colouring book from that book fair – the ultimate hobby of my younger years. As my close friends will be aware, I laugh at my own stupid jokes (that aren't necessarily all that hilarious), wear a bow in my hair and am currently using the same pink lunchbox ever since kindergarten… yes, the good old PINK lunchbox! It's served me well these past ten years. Having a seven year old brother has helped me maintain my love for childish movies like Madagascar, Robin Hood and 101 Dalmatians.

So, never say that he or she is JUST a kid.

Admire them for their pure smiles, the kind that has nothing to hide.

Admire them for the laughter that pours from their heart, not the kind that puts other people down.

Admire them for the weird clothes they wear, the kind that accentuates their bright soul.

Admire them for their dreams and their imagination, the kind they dream themselves, not the kind they have to impress anyone else but themselves.