Peter Pan

When you hear the name Peter Pan, the animated Disney movie that was first released in 1953 should come to mind. However, when I think about Peter Pan, I think of a twenty-seven year old lost boy. I think of tanned muscular arms that held me tightly. I think about late night deep meaningful conversations that turned into morning whispers as we said goodnight because our eyes were too heavy to stay awake anymore. I think about fun, laughter, sun, and no responsibilities. I think about a laugh that stops you from breathing and a smile that stretches across the desert. I think about hands that fit together perfectly, like a jigsaw puzzle - made to be together. I think about my lost boy, who had passionate dreams without the means to make them a reality. I think about the man he could have become if he ever stopped being Peter Pan. I think about a great love story that ended before it began.

In my story, Peter Pan was a beautiful Arab, who was born lost - he has never had any direction or guidance. He was by far the prettiest boy I ever dated! I waited for him tell me he loved me three times before I uttered these three important words back to him. When I did finally say them back, it was with extreme passion and truth. I have never loved anyone so much in my life. Unfortunately, my version of Peter Pan does not live up to Disney standards, and ended badly. The two tales are similar, however, with Tinkerbel always being there for Peter, while Peter continuously misused poor Tinks and took her for granted. My lost boy was my favourite drug; I would die for him. In contrast, I was his cigarette; when he was done with me he simply stepped on me and walked away.

He is a Palestinian and I, a South African. He is Muslim, while I am Christian. That should have been enough of a warning sign. “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I took the one less travelled by...” Oh Robert Frost, if you only knew the road I took! Although we were friends, the chemistry was electric. When we finally made that transition from friendship to more I instantly knew I was in trouble. I looked him square in the eye, and I accused him, “You are dangerous! I could fall in love with you”, and before I knew it, I had. I gave him my entire heart and soul without hesitation.

From that first moment when I felt his soft lips on mine, I was doomed. Things were just so comfortable from the very beginning. I have never slept so well in my life as I did with him sleeping next to me. He snored so soothingly and so silently, it was like a lullaby. He quickly became my best friend. I loved talking to him. We had the best conversations about everything. I loved spending time with him. Simply being in his company would set my soul on fire – in the best possible way. My heart would explode from happiness when he would grab my hand in his. I loved hearing him call me baby, like I was the only girl in the world, and staring into those deep brown eyes melted my heart.

If only he hadn’t been Peter Pan. If only he hadn’t been so lost. I guess, though, that is exactly one of the many reasons I loved him. No relationship is perfect. Everyone fights. When he would fight, it was with venom. He would fight so dirty always making me feel like I had done something horrible. Something completely unforgivable which, of course was never actually the case.Truth be told, I acted like a complete crazy person at times because I found myself in the most bizarre situations of my life. When you are put into an insane situation and you are pushed to your limits, you are capable of doing and saying things that would completely surprise you. I can honestly say that each and every time I was shocked at my own behaviour, I would reflect and I would know I was in love and that I was in a crazy situation. It may not have been excusable,but it most certainly was understandable. It doesn’t matter which way you slice it though, I was never as bad as his reaction was. His reaction was always the epitome of hyperbolic reactions. The childish behaviour, the shouting and the overreacting, would only drive me more crazy.

To be cheated on, emotionally, or physically, to have your trsut and your faith in someone destroyed is never easy. Dealing with the heart break of it all is torture. Even today as I am writing this, my heart aches while I wait for my heart to catch up with my head. Three weeks ago I stopped replying to him. Three weeks ago, he said he was sorry and I did not reply. Three weeks have gone by and he has not messaged me. I keep reiterating three weeks, because it has only been a short amount of time. I expect to feel whole already. I expected him to care enough to at least message me. The realisation that Peter Pan and I will never be is soul destroying. It’s like being kicked in the stomach while you’re already down and gasping for air.

Peter Pan is a magical being. He draws you in with his boyish good looks and he has an innocence about him because he is lost. You want to look after him but you have to remember that he has a mean streak in him and he abuses poor Tinks, and Wendy too. The best thing in the end is for both Tinks and Wendy to let Peter go. Even Peter eventually grows up! I hope he does too.

Sometimes you just have to cry

I have never been a crier. My family sees me as the runt of the litter. I have never been tough enough and have always been the biggest crier in the family. Having said that though, I never really cried much. I think that my family are secretly a bunch of over exaggerators. I am in fact one of the toughest, strongest people I know. Don't just take me opinion for it though. I have been told this by countless other people too. I have always cried silently, in private if at all. I have felt that it is a sign of weakness, probably from my family's overwhelming thoughts of how emotionally incompetent I am.

As a teacher, and surrogate parent, I have an even firmer belief in crying privately. You'll hear it all the time, "Don't cry in front of your kids". Teachers, however, are told this over and over again. "It shows weakness". "Don't let them see you as weak". I am sure you know these age old sayings. I can only reflect on my own schooling; seeing a teacher cry always made me feel compassion. I am sure there are others like me who feel bad when a teacher cries. After all, teachers are human beings too. They have feelings just like the rest of us.

Something changed deep within my soul though. I cannot tell you a single thing about my turning point as I have no idea when exactly it happened. It is definitely something that happened to me though; I had no control over it. Perhaps it was self-fulfilling prophecy; after all, I was emotionally bullied into being tougher by my family growing up. When the tears started, they were an endless river. My pent up emotions were like the flood that God sent when he instructed to Noah to build the ark. In hindsight though, I guess this makes the most amount of sense seeming as I am such an extremist; living in a very black and white world.

Since unleashing my emotions, I cannot watch any sad movies, or listen to sad stories, even some music has forever been deleted, never to be redownloaded or YouTubed again. I found the more I oppressed my feelings, the more they escaped my clutches and poured through my hand like sand being held on too tightly. I broke numerous cardinal rules along the way as a result.

It wasn’t, however, until a friend of mine were having a conversation about crying that I had a second epiphany; this time acutely aware it was happening. It was a lengthy conversation where the outcome was profound. She convinced me that crying is healthy as it is the purging, the letting go of, and the washing away of negative emotions. Crying is the purifying and cleansing of the soul; like raining washing away debris. It is essential in some situations in order to move on.

I still cry from time to time, and sometimes more often than others, but more importantly, I learned not to bottle up my emotions; and that sometimes you just have to cry.