A friend recently mentioned the Mad Hatter to me.
It has been a long time since I've thought of Alice and her adventures in Wonderland (the painful memories of sitting through those god awful movies do not help).
When I was a child, Wonderland was just that - a magical place of talking animals and jam tarts and food that made you change sizes. A place of joy, a place where children could come and go without a second thought to their safety, (because let's face it, a floating grin in mid-air is fascinating to a child, even more so when it starts talking), a place where dreams literally came true.
When I was a child, I spent hours dreaming of what I would do, where I go and who I would talk to in case I had a chance to visit. I quite liked Alice too, the child had no clue where she was or what problem she was facing, and steadily continued eating and drinking her way through all her troubles. Young me liked young Alice's approach to life.
A few ponderings later, I wondered what the Red Queen's story was. No one becomes that bitter if their lives were filled with rainbows and unicorns and starwberry tarts. I began doubting the White Queen and her supposed sparkly twinkling goodness; because such a thing does not, and can not exist.
That's the thing with Wonderland, it is very guarding of the information it reveals. It makes sure that the text itself doesn't expose the kids to a reality they are not ready to face, while simultaneously lending itself to myriad interpretations for an adult who goes looking. And I made the mistake of looking too deep.
Because this time, revisiting Wonderland was daunting; it brought down crass reality crashing down on me.
The nonsensical dialogue that I had enjoyed as a child was too jarring now, too...empty; the constant string of situations Alice found herself in made me feel helpless, for what business does a child have in a world of such strange realities where there was a constant threat of being beheaded? Why did the child think it was a good idea to follow a rabbit, of all things, down a hole in the ground?
Would I, now a grown up, consider any fleeting glimpses of Wonderland (a rabbit with a pocketwatch, a smoking caterpillar, or a flash of a huge floating grin in the air) any more than an insomnia or stress induced hallucination?
Would I even consider picking up a random piece of cake that blatantly declared "Eat me"?
When did the Mad Hatter's quirky personality get reduced to mere symptoms of mercury poisoning?
When did that part of me that was filled with wonder become buried under mounds of insecurity and doubt?
When did child-like curiosity get replaced with the cold harsh facts of reality?
On this very depressing note, I leave you with this to ponder, once again - Why is a raven like a writing desk?