I must have been… not taller than 40 centimeters, so, quite young.
My parents took me to a circus show. It was raining that night, an omen of what was to come, but we were already seated under the circus tent, so what was probably hell’s water didn’t touch us.
I was my usual self, exploding with anticipation on the inside, but keeping a steely exterior, while we waited.
A pair of clowns came out and started doing some routine. One of the clowns had cotton-candy pink hair, it was like a pink cloud resting on top of his head. I don’t remember the other clown well, let’s say he had blue hair and was a creature that came from where nightmares are made. He convinced the cotton-candy-haired clown to have a makeover.
Fool. Why would you change such majestic fluffy hair?
Mr. Nightmare proceeded to put one of those professional standing hair-dryers on Captain Fluff, who was hopeful, thinking he would look even more beautiful after this treatment.
My 2 (or 3) year old tiny self wasn’t expecting what was about to happen, neither did Captain Fluff. It was cruel, to say the least. His hopes were shattered as Mr. Nightmare took the hair-dryer off, revealing black, thick hair, that looked as if it was terrified of itself.
My eyes were bursting with tears as I saw this injustice occur. My screams resonated throughout the tent. I was horrified because, you know, pink turned to black. How was that possible? I uttered words no one knew I knew, not even I knew I knew them. I screamed, “panic clown”, and repeated this phrase at the top of my lungs until my parents got the hint and took me out of that atrocious place.
And that’s why clowns are evil creatures from the depths of hell.
I like to think of myself as a cool, tough girl, like The Terminator’s Sister, walking in the desert, wearing shades, as an explosion roars behind me, and I say phrases in other languages that quickly become legendary.
Or like Arnold in Last Action Hero, just taking down the bad guys like it’s nothing, not knowing my life is actually a movie and I’m the heroine in it.
Or like Arnold in Predator, shouting orders at people, being cooler than my frenemy and showing off my giant muscles.
Or like Roddy Piper in They Live, with the same sexy haircut, saying that line every time I’m at the post office or at the bank: “I have come here to chew bubblegum and kickass… And I’m all out of bubblegum… And I will queue and wait for my turn.”
But I am a clumsy, very emotional, tiny human. I can’t run up stairs without putting my life in real danger. The following is a drawing of what happened in 2015, when I decided to run and ignore my own warnings:
It looks bad, but the only physical damage that resulted from that was a scrapped knee. However, the mental wound will be eternal.
I’m dangerous in the kitchen as well. When I start chopping something, I don’t know if I’ll end the chore with all my fingers attached to my hands or not. To be honest, I don’t like how my fingers look, aesthetically speaking, but that doesn’t mean I want to lose any of them, and yet, it’s a possibility.
When it comes to my emotions, things reach that level 11. I can’t see someone crying in a video without tearing up myself. If a paralysed animal gets a wheelchair and they love it, I start sobbing.
I have cried at concerts too. Metal concerts. During a heavy song. They’re happy tears, of course, but still, it’s hard to look tough when you can’t hold back the tears.
Okay, that drawing went too far. It’s not that extreme… yet.
The thing is, the real me doesn’t get in the way of how I see myself, I’m still walking, leaving the explosion behind, because I’m glad the bad times didn’t turn me into an empty vessel that looks like a human, and I’m glad I had the strength to overcome every painful obstacle.
I am tough, I just would say those cool movie lines with tears on my face. And ruin the take. It’s fine.
Hey, have a beautiful 2019, full of happy tears!
And remember to be like the wise ginger root, strong against evil, no matter how tiny you look.