When I was a little girl, mermaids were my favorite mythical creatures. I was a massive bookworm and even read the original fairy tales wherein the mermaid lost the prince and turned into foam. Every summer when my mom put up the kiddie pool I swam and pretended I was a mermaid, trying to swim just like one. Every trip to the big public pool made me pretend I was a mermaid too. I loved the water! I distinctly remember my drawings from kindergarten; we had a big white board on the wall on which you could put your paper, and then use your fingers or brushes to paint. If someone were to ask me what I liked most as a child, I would have to answer… mermaids!
Growing up, throughout my teen and adult years, my fascination for merfolk hasn’t dwindled at all. Though I was reluctant to openly admit my love for them (I didn’t want to be called childish more than I already did) I have secretly harbored interest all this time.
Part of me still aches badly to be a mermaid and dive into the ocean to explore and discover magical, wonderful things.
I’m certain some people find that silly. I sometimes feel the same way, particularly because I know it’s not a realistic ‘dream’ to have and that being stuck in an unattainable dream can have massive downsides. But then my friend, who knew about my fascination, bought me two mermaid books. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt so warm and awe struck as when I was a child, firmly hoping the magic to be real. I devoured the books and I hold them very dear.
My boyfriend humors me quite a bit and calls me his mermaid every now and then, making jokes about it and teasing me. I don’t feel offended, I feel happy he hasn’t dismissed this as a silly fantasy of an adult woman. There’s something comforting about not being denied a silly dream by the people you love.
Do you have a ‘silly’ fantasy like this?