Evaporating Magic.

I know it's already 1am and I have school tomorrow, but I really need to write this down.

Pardon me for not having sufficiently organized my thoughts before trying to put them down in writing. I no longer have the luxury of time to idly plan blogs like I so thoroughly enjoy. I regret not having the gift of clear thought: the key to coherent writing. Still, there are so many thoughts and feelings that I don't want to forget - and I will need to do what I can to record them, whether or not I do them justice.

Ohh. Where do I start?

The timing has been incredible. Today was the first day of classes for me this semester. I woke up with ample time to get ready for classes, sat through a very intimidating advanced conducting class of 5 students (conduct Stravinsky you say? With a baton?!), more ear training, a great devotional about being celestial kingdom material, a math class I am determined not to get bored with and drop this time, then finally, work. Got to work on time. Trying to be more responsible this semester.

I had the best time at work today.

Not long after I got to work, Vana, our lead who assigns tours knows that I love children. "Here, there are 3 children," and handed me their tickets. A wonderful family of 8 from Maine. Great-grandmother, grandparents, mother, father then Spence 9, Cassandra 8 and Dawson 6.

Something about children brings out the best in me. They like me. I love them. I haven't quite figured out why exactly, but call it a blessing, call it a talent, skill, or simply magic. Whatever it is, I am grateful for it.

Dawson was a shy little boy, all proper looking in his white collared dress shirt, walking with his hands behind his back. A couple of hours into the tour and I had his hand in mine, and his sister's in the other and we were skipping to our next show. I wore pigtails to work today. I faintly overheard their mother saying something to the effect of "She's just like one of them."

On what I thought was a totally unrelated note, I watched Finding Neverland tonight. Erika invited me to join them in watching it in the theatre yesterday, but I am low on $$$ so I turned them down and spent all night trying to download it instead.

I bawled my eyes out again. There are only a few special movies I feel like I want to write pages and pages about - and have, here - after watching them. This was one such experience.

Only recently did I watch "Peter Pan" again and had a very similar feeling. I blogged about that, of course.

Why write about a similar theme? Because I understand those feelings just a little better this time around. Because I sense that this will be a recurring motif throughout my life.

A thought hit me in the scene where George was talking to Barrie about his ill mother. "Look at that. How magnificent: the boy is gone. Somewhere during the last 30 seconds, you've become grown up." I've spent the entire time on this blog writing, trying to mature, to grow up. And then I spend my time with some of the most innocent people on earth, watch a great movie about them and remember how much I don't want to.

I am reminded of the day I sent my last little brother off to his first day of elementary school. I felt like I was kissing his childhood goodbye. My 4 brothers are home growing up without me as we speak. All of a sudden, legos won't be fun anymore and Santa won't visit our home every year.

Bah.

Life terrifies me. I am afraid that I will never learn responsibility, never be wise and mature, yet even more fearful that I will forget to giggle and to walk with a skip in my step and one day become incredibly boring and only worry about mortgages and if the kids have done their homework.

"I suppose it's all the work of the ticking crocidile isn't it? Time is chasing after all of us"

Now I understand why I always feel the way I do when I watch Peter Pan. There's some big metaphor that my mind can't decipher, but the child within me grasps completely. My heart (and tear ducts) sense the meaning, and I cry.

I think I understand now why Mom cried the day I got my first acceptance letter from BYU-Hawaii. I was 17 then. I thought that it was simply because she would miss my presence. It was more because she would miss my youth. At least we have been allowed to have memories.

Perhaps one day I will be blessed with the same sorrows. I am hopeful that I will never be in danger of letting the child within me die. Children were destined to be a huge part of my life I think. I hope. I pray.

I wish to always see the world through a child's eyes. Oh, I hope that I never have to grow up.