When I was younger, I was convinced that magic was real. Maybe because I read a lot of books, or maybe it was because I was obsessed with Harry Potter, or maybe because I was just so naive. Harry Potter gave me hope, love and a belief in the impossible. Yeah I mean Harry was stupid at times, but his stupidity taught me more about life than the real experiences ever could. For that, I am grateful.
I wanted to believe in magic, I think it was because I wanted to believe that there was so much more to life than just waking up and going to school. I wanted to believe that there was a secret world, another universe where magical creatures and magic existed. A place far beyond our perceptions.
When we were kids we would dress up as superheroes, we would pretend that magic existed under our beds. We would wrap a towel around us and instantly become whoever we wanted to be, we would pick up a remote control and pretend that it was a magic wand, we would believe that we had magic powers. As kids, we believed in magic. I believed that my bed time stories could just about cure any problem that my childhood world threw at me. And the best part being that people around you would play along, you could be anyone or anything that you wanted to be. For as long as you wanted. Superman, Spiderman, Batman or even a Disney Princess. When we were kids, we wished on stars, we believed in Santa Clause, the tooth fairy and even the magic of Disney.
Then, we grow up.
We grow up and we become ‘adults’ and along come expectations (quite a lot of them too).
But why do we have to stop believing in magic?
Maybe magic does exist. Maybe, magic is falling in love. Maybe, magic is inside every page of any book that we read. Maybe, magic is in having strength and courage. Maybe, magic is in every battle that we face. Maybe, magic is hope. Maybe, magic is in the moments when we are explicably happy. Maybe, magic is believing in yourself.
I prefer the world in my head where magic exists and time does not.