Blowing Mist | We’re all dragons, and we’re all not.

On Dragons

I was already seated on the plane, waiting for the other passengers to board. It was early, and the morning was cold. A guy walked down the aisle, rubbing his hands against the cold, and blew into them. As he did, a plume of steam came out of his mouth. He noticed, a small look of surprise on his face.

He made it all the way to his seat puffing steam out like a child.

It’s funny that some things don’t change. As a child, I spent my winters huffing and puffing out steam like a dragon. As a grown-up, I do the same — just like that guy.

But at the same time, some things do change. I don’t recognise myself as that child anymore. I am distant. It unsettles me.

I ask myself: Who am I?
And I hear: You are no one, dear — you are many. You are both and you are all.

I ask: how do I go back to who I used to be?
And I hear: You don’t go back. You only go forward.

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