The Changeling-1

“I was always best at copying things. I would imitate something I saw for so long, until it became second skin to me. I thought that was how all people became humans. Who knew I was a changeling in disguise, putting on a mask so others wouldn’t notice I wasn’t like them.”

Changeling

/ˈtʃeɪn(d)ʒlɪŋ/

noun

• a child believed to have been secretly substituted by fairies for the parents’ real child in infancy.

Memory is a peculiar thing, sometimes shifting things from a blurry past into focus, like drawing the velvet curtains from a play you didn’t know you took part of. Sometimes it takes things you thought were clear as day and twists them, rearranging fragments until you’re left staring at a scene you no longer recognize. Who is this life that was lived and what does it mean? Some old stories stay even though their truths are now uncertain, but you fear that if you scrutinize these truths that have secured you for so long too closely, it might dissolve the very anchors of your identity, leaving you adrift in an ocean of confusion. One more wave of uncertainty and you might be severed from your moorings, drifting endlessly with no goal in mind and no direction but the never ending current pushing you into uncharted territory. The trouble with growing up is that nobody has taught me how to navigate these new waters.