I suppose it's like forgetting, losing who you are, and at the same time, something makes you whole.

There's a little boy with his father at the bus stop. They are holding hands, smiling, and both wearing Jason Mraz hats--perhaps that Mum made them put on as sun protection. The dad's is a sandy beige color and the boy's is white and blue striped. His trainer-covered feet are firmly planted on the concrete, yet his entire upper body moves to the right and left as he excitedly waves "hello and please stop" to the bus with his free hand. Once on the bus, he sits contentedly on his hat twin's lap and whispers curious questions into his father's ear. "Ask Mum when we get home," he answers with a nod. It's good to see that it's not just in the US where the men admit the women know all the answers.

A little girl and her mother come out of their house that is directly in front of the bus stop. The girl is dressed in all pink, and she's writhing her hand--quietly but emphatically--to attempt freedom from her mother's grasp. The mother positions the girl against the fence, far away from the street, then walks toward the parked car and opens the boot. The child immediately runs toward the road, and the mother instinctively reaches one hand out to prevent her from leaving the sidewalk. Frustrated, the child turns and looks at me. When I smile at her, she squeezes her eyes shut as tightly as she can, but does not turn her head. By this time, her mother has successfully gotten the stroller out and gently draws the girl toward her seat. Once on the bus, she continues to play this strange form of peek-a-boo with me, while her mother looks on with a smile.

I observe these and many other children every day throughout my various excursions, but the thought strikes me today: how different their childhood is from mine. And yet, children are children, and there seem to exist universal qualities that, if brought together from all different places in the world, there would be little or no prejudice, bias, judgment, or hatred. Just simply curiosity. Acceptance. Care. Love.

It is incredible how much you can learn from children. How much they can teach you about yourself. How much they can teach you about a culture that was entirely foreign to you mere months ago. How much they can remind you how similar we all really are--that we're all in this together, and if we just take a moment to smile and wave at the bus driver instead of habitually sticking our arm out as though we are robots who do as we're told, maybe we will learn something new about the world.

This is how I feel when I watch Wicked the Musical. I am a child again, and everything makes sense because nothing is too complicated. Life outside of the theatre, better yet, outside of Oz, stops. And I am just there, squeezing my eyes just in an attempt to hold on to this single moment forever. I am unaware of the past or the future; I only want to learn as much as I can from now. When it is over, when the house lights come back on, I am an adult again. And all of those worries--the money, the papers, the people--come rushing over me. But if I close my eyes tightly enough, I can remember where I was moments before, learning about fairy tales, friendship, and freedom. And I know that the girl who walks out of those theatre doors is not the same woman who walked in them. Something, it may seem, has changed within me.

It is not quite time to go home. But I understand why I have come here, and this is the first step to the end of a journey. But don't worry, dear reader. This journey, these moments, will live on as a part of me forever. And when I close my eyes or smile and wave, I will be reminded of what I learned here.

Love,
lvp