Tuesday, December 14, 2010

the steadfast tin soldier & other meanderings


Imagine what it must be like to be a music box ballerina. They must live for the time when thoughtless hands open their cages and set their souls free. They can dance! Only for a little while, though… What a terrible fate! I wish a steadfast tin soldier for every one of them.

I would like you to be my steadfast tin soldier. What is a delicate, paper castle to me when I could have someone who understands?
But what will be left of our love in the end? A spangle {burned} and a lump of tin {heart-shaped}, lying a pile of ash. It’s beautiful, isn’t it? But beautiful does not mean happily-ever-after. Sadness is beautiful. {I know that boy agrees with me. I once remarked that “sadness is beautiful” and he agreed. A girl protested. But it’s alright… she just doesn’t know. Don’t you think sadness is beautiful?}


Lately, I have found myself, expressing joy through an impulsive but meaningful medley of songs. I let my voice canter unrestrained as I run around and drape myself across banisters. {As if I was starring in my own musical improvisation.} No one has made me feel this giddy in a long time. It’s all because of you. I wonder if you’ll ever know what you've done to me.

So quickly, it seems, my devotion changed. I am not capricious - not in the least! I am the steadfast, tin soldier to my feather-friends. You will find that loyalty runs steadily through my veins, mixing completely with my blood. But it was time. Time to let go. Time to wake-up from my dream of who that boy is and finally see his reality. I shook his dream from my shoulders and it slithered to the floor like a velvety cape. I hadn’t realized how old and worn the fabric was. I know now. And I haven't felt this free, this content in a long time. This story made have a sad ending, but for now I don't care. Even if all that remains will be...




{1st picture found here, 2nd & 3rd picture taken by me from my book of The Steadfast Tin Soldier by Hans Christian Andersen with illustrations by Angela Barrett. The nail-bitten fingers belong to me...}

8 comments:

  1. Your words leave me without breath. This is poetry. "I shook his dream from my shoulders and it slithered to the floor like a velvety cape. I hadn't realized how old and worn the fabric was." Aaaaah. Brilliant.

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  2. This is excellent writing! What a nice intriguing opening... such creative expressions. It can be disappointing to see someone for who they are, but eventually the disappointment fades and the truth is most important.

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  3. You whisked me away into a fairytale of spinning waltzes and quickening heartbeats. I suppose happily ever afters are meaningless if they are an illusion. Freedom is more important than anything else, and perhaps in time this will turn out to be a happy ending after all.

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  4. Jenica: Thank you so much! Your comments bring me such joy, they really do. :)

    Jade: Thank you! It is indeed disappointing but overall (in my case, at least) so wonderfully freeing!

    Thea: Thank you for your lovely comment. I do hope this will end happily but I guess only time will tell. :)

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  5. Wow, wow! How pretty!

    I love fairy tales, and Anderson is no exception, but the Steadfast Tin Soldier has always been a tale that made me so sad, I rarely read it as a kid. It still makes me sad now.

    But after reading your heartfelt post, I think I can read it again with more enjoyment. I think you brought out all the loveliness of the story, with more bittersweet and not just bitter.

    Very cool :)

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  6. Thank you very much! I'm delighted that I could make you see the Steadfast Tin Soldier in a different light.
    As a child, I always liked the sad fairy tales best, hehe. :)

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  7. God I love this. It's incredible. I love the word giddy! I LIVE for giddy!

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  8. Thank you! Oh yes, giddy is a wonderful natural high. :)

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Silhouettes of a secret. A story told over a cuppa. Or perhaps just sitting on that stone bench, basking in the moonlight... and not saying anything at all.


("I can no other answer make but thanks, and thanks, and ever thanks." -Shakespeare, Twelfth Night)