Que Sera Sera

When she was just a little girl, she asked her mama, what will I be? Will I be pretty? Will I be rich? 

And as the passing of days became memories and layer by layer she shed the innocence of childhood, she lost along with it the essence of life. Her reserve crumbled and she got weak. Coy pessimism usurped the stronghold optimism previously claimed in the gleam of her determination. She allowed situations to get the best of her, gave reign to her insecurities to seep through, creep up on her and left her naught but a shell. Hard, untouchable and cold on the outside. Empty on the inside. And for a long long while she stopped believing. In rainbows and sunshine. In shooting stars and moonbeams. In miracles. In love. 

But then, like every story ever told, this one never ends until the last word of the last sentence of the last page is read and digested and what is left of the little girl still stubbornly sits at the edge of her seat, anticipating what the next second may bring. The many secrets that the future withholds and in gestures of generosity unfolds glimpse by measly glimpse to that little part of us which forever remain little girls and boys. That part that melts away barriers of ice built, that part that loves unconditionally, that part that trusts without doubt and that part that believes. The part that is never lost, merely buried, stashed away, forgotten. 

And her mama's reply resides there along with the ghost of the child she had been. Those words of wisdom that dole out frustration laced with a generous frosting of hope. "Que Sera Sera, whatever will be, will be, the future's not ours to see, Que Sera Sera". Simply because that's how the song goes..