“Freedom is a funny thing.”, she mused aloud to herself. “It is a choice, and yet like everything we still allow ourselves to contest and to deny it. Freedom is liberation, but we can’t feel liberated from something without first having felt restrained by it. Freedom means letting go, but then how can we ever truly come to possess it?” She always got this way, at this time of day, staring at the clouds and remembering how as a child, she had once asked for a cloud in a jar as a birthday present. “But my dear”, her papa had said, holding her lovingly on his knee, “this is simply impossible. All of the kings horses and all of the kings men…” he said, referring to one of her favorite nursery rhymes, “even they, combined, could not capture a cloud. Let alone put it in a jar. But you may try, if you wish.” Having noted it as an impossible task, she had forgotten it, but nonetheless was reminded fondly of the request (and of her papa) each time she looked up at the sky. “Impossible tasks are a funny thing too”, she said, noticing how even though everything seemed to be funny, she never seemed to laugh, and was always so serious.
Freedom is a funny thing, she said.
Liberation is a funny thing too.
But she never laughed,
Even when so many things seemed funny to her.
She was always so serious.