The things we carry in our pockets
The twenty-sixth one
She flung open the door without hesitation, almost smiling if you looked closely. Whispering to herself, I am not afraid. Her subtle smile grew wider, brimming with something unspoken. As she stepped into the room, heads turned. Eyes widened. She immediately felt the room’s energy shift, and she shrank into herself, curling her body as though trying to disappear entirely.
The boldness she had carried just moments ago vanished, replaced by a wave of fear. Why had she entered like that? Who was she to be so bold? She could feel their eyes on her, sharp, probing, unforgiving. Her skin prickled under the pressure of their gaze. She wanted nothing more than to dissolve into the background, to blend into the walls, to be invisible. So, she folded herself smaller and smaller, willing the world to forget she was there.
And then, whoosh! A loud, unmistakable wind surged through the space. It swept in swiftly, like a gale rushing through trees, carrying the force of wings cutting through the air. It was as though the earth itself reeled and rocked; the foundations of the mountains trembling and quaking in its wake.
And oh, how they trembled in fear! They too, began to shrink, curling into themselves, wishing desperately for it to pass. Their fear was laced with a simmering rage, a helpless fury born from their inability to control the wind, to rid the space of its presence. Who let this wind enter in?! It was too big, too powerful, and despite their terror, they couldn’t help but feel a deep reverence for its might.
And that wind began to speak, and it whispered to her, Come awake, oh, come awake. And she leaned in and settled in the wind.
And she was unafraid.
When I was around five or six years old, I created tiny companions by drawing little people on paper and cutting them out. They were my not-so-imaginary friends, my "paper people." I kept them close, tucked safely in my pocket, and took them everywhere with me. When I’d pull them out to play, I’d dream up all sorts of random stories and scenarios for them to navigate, much like kids do with Barbies or action figures. Alongside these ever-changing stories, there was one constant theme in the little world I built: my paper people were always on a never-ending walk. I distinctly remember imagining them walking through mountains and valleys, always on the move. When it rained, they’d stop to find shelter, silently resting until it passed. Then, without a word, they’d get up and continue their endless walk.
Throughout 2024, there were moments where I found myself longing for a new season to begin. I was desperate for it, wishing it would swoop in and rescue me from the one I felt trapped confined in. And do you want to hear something strange? Sometimes, when I got close to what I was longing for, like close enough to touch it, to see it clearly even without my glasses, I was suddenly hit with fear. In those moments, it didn’t feel like mine anymore. I’d feel undeserving. And then, I’d pull away. Why did that happen? It was as though my journey began to mirror the one I created with the little things I carried in my pocket. I felt like I was walking and walking through a dense fog, hands reaching for something solid, something to hold onto. And when I felt the presence of that something near, I’d get up and continue this endless walk, driven by a new desire, a new longing.
Oh, but perhaps one day I’ll stop walking, do you think? And maybe I’ll look up and see how far I’ve come. And maybe I’ll lean in and settle in the wind.
And maybe—
1Then comes blessed relief. I suddenly realize that I don’t know what I can do. I almost laugh with joy. All this horror was premature. No definite task is before me. All that’s being asked of me is a general and preliminary resolution to keep going in whatever way circumstances may show to be desirable—in fact, and I fly back to the comforting words as a child flies back to its mother's arms—"to do my best"—or rather, to keep doing my best, because I’ve really been doing it all along. "What bugbears I make of things unnecessarily!" I murmur, settling myself into a slightly more comfortable position.
📝📝
This would make a great book. The little paper people were very interesting and creative!