I got this bottle of fairy dust from the tooth fairy when I was five years old. In reality, my mom stayed up all night adding the finishing touches and a custom tag from the tooth fairy herself, just to keep my belief in fairies alive. I woke up that bright December morning, after a night of restless anticipation, to a strange lump behind my pillow. I nearly squealed when I saw that sparkling gold bottle labeled “Neorah’s Fairy Dust.” At five years old, in that small moment, all of my greatest wishes had been fulfilled. I believed that I was the chosen one. That I could now fly to join the fairies in their little hidden treehouse. That feeling of complete happiness is hard to achieve now.
Later that day, I had my mom pry off the cork so we could sprinkle some of the fairy dust onto the wings from my Halloween costume. I ran back and forth across the backyard as fast as I could, trying to catch a gust of wind and take flight. I tried for weeks. I had no success, but my belief in fairies didn’t fade. I still wholeheartedly believed that I had a bottle of magical fairy dust sitting in my room, and that was all I needed.
Oh, to be five again. At five all it took to entertain me was wind, glitter, and dollar-store fairy wings. And when I wanted to believe there was more than this, I just did. Today that gold-glitter bottle sits on a shelf in my room, reminding me of the happiest days of my life. A time when I was completely and utterly carefree. I mean, I’m pretty sure I had a grin on my face 24/7! At five, I hadn’t met loneliness, depression, regret. A part of me wishes I could go back to those days of childhood innocence, when I didn’t have to focus on things like goals and grades and could simply spend my days running through the sunlight, laughing.
But as much as this is a story about deep-set nostalgia, it is also a story about my mom. My wonderful, dedicated, mom. A woman who makes so many sacrifices for me and my brother every single day. I know I wouldn’t be the person I am today if it wasn’t for her. Every time I look up at that little bottle on the shelf above my bed, I think about just how grateful I am. How grateful I am for my wonderful childhood that she gave me. To me, this is more than just a bottle of glitter; as cheesy as it is, in those sparkling flecks of gold I see love and happiness, and I feel the magic of simply being alive.
But as much as this is a story about deep-set nostalgia, it is also a story about my mom. My wonderful, dedicated, mom. A woman who makes so many sacrifices for me and my brother every single day.