tanja

As a six-year old girl in (West) Germany, I had sustained a life of dreariness by cultivating my fantasy life. I would tell grandiose stories that I knew were not true, over and over again, to my fellow Frankfurt International schoolmates, who heralded from all over the world. One particular rumor I had started involved a fictitious furry mammal that lived in a hollowed-out, rotted log in the forest bordering the school. All winter long, my classmates would take a trip to the log during playtime/lunch break to see it, except for me. I would stay behind; blissfully alone, reading or doing whatever it is I did. By the time the snow had melted, my classmates were disgusted with me for having told them a lie, and by springtime I would retreat alone to the forest, to the rotted log. Just as I was wondering how was it that I was always alone, whether by choice or not, I saw the tail of a grey and white furry creaturewhat it was, I still dont knowscurrying into the log. So, I had not lied after all I merely anticipated what was true, and now, I was the only one witnessing it.

And I wonder, did I still lie?