Fish and Falling
I was young when they started. For a time the setting was the Peter Pan ride at Disney’s Magic Kingdom. To board the ride, you stood on a slowly moving platform and were guided onto a miniature “ship” suspended from the ceiling by a grinning “cast member.” On a theme park safety rating scale of 1–10 (10 being the most dangerous), I’m certain that this magical ride through London and Neverland would be rated a 2 at most. However, not long after a childhood trip to the most magical place on the planet, I began having a recurring nightmare of missing this easy transfer from moving platform to the flying ship and falling, falling, falling, into a black abyss of stars. I would awaken, heart pounding, trying to convince myself that nothing happened and all was well.
Later these dreams evolved to a more ominous setting. At our local zoo there was an enormous aquarium full of exotic fish. The wonder of this particular tank was that you began by standing above the water, trying to pick out the moving shapes underneath the rippling surface. Then, you took a short walk down a sloped sidewalk, you turned a corner, and there you were — standing in front of an enormous pain of glass, staring strange sea creatures in the eye. There was one particular monster that lived in this expanse I will never forget. To my young self, he appeared to be the length of a grown man. He was long and slender, snaking through the water. Most frightening of all were his huge eyes and his toothy underbite. As he passed by the glass, the hair would stand up on my freckled arms and I would back away from the glass. In my new nightmares, I fell into this very aquarium. Panic set in, as I frantically searched the waters for the eel-like beast — dreading to find him.
Again and again I dreamt of falling. The settings become more and more fantastical and the danger more mysterious and more real. Fantasy and fear — these two have always walked hand in hand in my imagination, close friends and arch enemies. On the one hand, the world is made of magic and mystery. It is a place of wonder and excitement. The truth is, I adore Disney World (and particularly the Peter Pan ride) and I am fascinated by the sea and its creatures. This fascination with mystery has led me to study Chinese, volunteer in Thailand, backpack across Europe, and write stories. But there is always coupled with the belief in possibility, the sense of optimism and faith, a fear of falling. Particularly, a fear of falling into an abyss full of strange beings. It is, for me, at its core, a fear of being lost, of being overwhelmed, of being insignificant.
I am an optimist, a believer in dreams. But, at the same time, I have known what it feels like to be utterly lost and to watch the reality of dreams not coming true. Yes, sometimes nightmares come true. Sometimes a little child, my friend, tests positive for HIV. Sometimes I don’t get into the graduate program I spent the last year feeling so certain was meant for me. Sometimes my best friend doesn’t get what she wants most out of life. I find myself sinking into the realm of sea monsters, falling into the night surrounding Neverland, wondering what was the use of dreams in the first place. And yet, what is one to do? Is one to avoid the wonders of Disney World? Is one to never look upon the majestic fish who glide through an aquarium? Am I to surrender to the reality that “life isn’t fair” and dreams don’t come true?
No. Someone I know who had little chance of having children is expecting a baby girl. Someone who set aside her dreams, now has a degree and runs an international organization. Someone experienced a storybook romance that she had assumed was an impossibility. Someone landed a dream job without a college degree. Someone is living, healthy and flourishing, with HIV. So, I visit aquariums and I leap onto the ship at Disney World because I might fall, but I also may experience magic. It is not that I bet on long shots, on happy endings and pixie dust. I simply and firmly believe that I would rather hope and fall than never hope at all.
