"'Who are you?' said the Caterpillar...
...Alice replied, rather shyly, 'I-I hardly know, sir, just at present - at least I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.'
'What do you mean by that?' said the Caterpillar sternly. 'Explain yourself!'
'I can't explain myself, I'm afraid, sir,' said Alice, 'because I'm not myself, you see.'
'I don't see,' said the Caterpillar.
'I'm afraid I can't put it more clearly,' Alice replied very politely, 'for I can't understand it myself to begin with; and being so many different sizes in a day is very confusing.'"
This past month I read Alice's Adventures in Wonderland for the first time. I have to admit that Tim Burton's interpretation of the book is what initially sparked my interest. But as I started reading, I immediately and unexpectedly began to identify with Alice. One day while absentmindedly playing, the young child discovers an rabbit hole, an opening to another dimension--a portal that swiftly transports her from a land of familiarity to a land of ambiguity. Scraping together every piece of logic and self-perspective the she has, Alice attempts to analyze and make sense of strange happenings and characters around her--until she surprisingly wakes up and finds herself home again.
And as I observed Alice try to comprehend the perplexing ways of Wonderland, I suddenly realized I was not much different than this child of seven or eight years of age wandering through the proportions of her own creativity. Sometimes I feel like Alice as I live here in Spain, making myself larger or smaller in order to fit through unknown doorways. Stopping at a crossroads and selecting any direction with no clear destination. Looking behind and wondering how passageways could end before they even started. Delighting in the limitless possibilities of my own imagination and yet cowering in its obscurities.
And sometimes like Alice, I wander through this strange world wondering if I'm awake or dreaming.
"'It was much pleasanter at home, thought poor Alice, 'when one wasn't always growing larger and smaller...I almost wish I hadn't gone down that rabbit-hole - and yet - and yet - it's rather curious, you know, this sort of life! I do wonder what can have happened to me! When I used to read fairy-tales, I fancied that kind of thing never happened, and now here I am in the middle of one! There ought to be a book written about me, that there ought! And when I grow up I'll write one - but I'm grown up now,' she added in a sorrowful tone."
...Alice replied, rather shyly, 'I-I hardly know, sir, just at present - at least I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.'
'What do you mean by that?' said the Caterpillar sternly. 'Explain yourself!'
'I can't explain myself, I'm afraid, sir,' said Alice, 'because I'm not myself, you see.'
'I don't see,' said the Caterpillar.
'I'm afraid I can't put it more clearly,' Alice replied very politely, 'for I can't understand it myself to begin with; and being so many different sizes in a day is very confusing.'"
This past month I read Alice's Adventures in Wonderland for the first time. I have to admit that Tim Burton's interpretation of the book is what initially sparked my interest. But as I started reading, I immediately and unexpectedly began to identify with Alice. One day while absentmindedly playing, the young child discovers an rabbit hole, an opening to another dimension--a portal that swiftly transports her from a land of familiarity to a land of ambiguity. Scraping together every piece of logic and self-perspective the she has, Alice attempts to analyze and make sense of strange happenings and characters around her--until she surprisingly wakes up and finds herself home again.
And as I observed Alice try to comprehend the perplexing ways of Wonderland, I suddenly realized I was not much different than this child of seven or eight years of age wandering through the proportions of her own creativity. Sometimes I feel like Alice as I live here in Spain, making myself larger or smaller in order to fit through unknown doorways. Stopping at a crossroads and selecting any direction with no clear destination. Looking behind and wondering how passageways could end before they even started. Delighting in the limitless possibilities of my own imagination and yet cowering in its obscurities.
And sometimes like Alice, I wander through this strange world wondering if I'm awake or dreaming.
"'It was much pleasanter at home, thought poor Alice, 'when one wasn't always growing larger and smaller...I almost wish I hadn't gone down that rabbit-hole - and yet - and yet - it's rather curious, you know, this sort of life! I do wonder what can have happened to me! When I used to read fairy-tales, I fancied that kind of thing never happened, and now here I am in the middle of one! There ought to be a book written about me, that there ought! And when I grow up I'll write one - but I'm grown up now,' she added in a sorrowful tone."
1 comment:
And is it just funny that both your names start with A?
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