Superman

When I was eight, my teacher asked me to draw Superman. I sketched planet earth. I drew a man wearing a red cap with Elvis Presley hair lifting earth with one giant hand. My conceptualization of superman was a hero who could protect me from all forms of danger. Among all the people I was aware of at that time, my Superman alternated between my Dad and a younger version of Bon Jovi. Needless to say, I envisioned him to be reliable, perdurable and occasionally, very handsome.

One day, I read a short story called 'Superman and Paula Brown's new snow suit' by Sylvia Plath. If you have ever read it, you will know it is the coming of age tale about a girl who compared her Uncle to Superman but eventually came to terms with the reality that Superman didn't exist. I wondered for a long time if Plath was right. Like the narrator of the story, was I only prepping myself for a huge disappointment?

I spent a number of years sheltered in a girls school. When I skipped a year and ventured into the real world, I comprehended the confinement that was my past. At school when you didn't understand something, the teachers helped you. When something went wrong, you spoke to your parents and they fixed it for you. No mattered what happened, it seemed like someone would be there to make things right.

Learning to be my own Superhero was a difficult task to accomplish. Moving away from home and the security that I never imagined I would miss, I felt lonely. I blew my entire month's spending on unwanted furniture and lived off bread for two weeks. I finally couldn't stand it any longer. Sitting alone in my room under the 40 degree heat, I called home. My Dad's response to my woes was that he would deposit some more money so I could buy a fan and some food. In the meantime, I just had to find a way to survive. Sylvia Plath's story found a way back into my memory. My Dad was no Superhero. I was disappointed. I was also relieved. We never did find out what happened to the main character, the narrator. Plath left the ending open for the readers to decide for themselves.

I decided Superman was never going to fly through my bedroom window and offer me food. Still, I wanted to find a way to provide the narrator in Plath's story with a happy ending.

A couple of nights later, I took the wrong bus to somewhere I had never been before. My first instinct was to call someone, anyone. Call Superman perhaps? My second reaction was to close my eyes and try to fall asleep. I knew neither plan would take me home. After a frightful few hours of successfully navigating my way through the dark, I had an epiphany. Maybe Superman does exist.

When we need a hero, somehow we will find a way to pull ourselves through.








This is just a short piece of writing I came up with before I head off to Melbourne with April. After three days in Melbourne I will return home to my old bed. I know I will have plenty to update you on while I'm floundering my way through the big city. My sense of direction is atrocious. Thankfully my best friend is with me, she can be my Superman for the next three days. I am going to go and start packing for my trip.

Remember.

My love forever and always,

Krystina