Origami Life

What am I to you? An origami turtle? Perhaps a paper swan? I’m still a work in progress. Constantly being folded to whatever someone wants me to be, only to be unfolded by someone else. Everyone has a different vision for me.

Yet I’m never enough.

I’m done being your piece of paper to do with as you wish. I’ll no longer be the timid origami turtle too quiet to stand up for itself. I refuse to hide in my paper thin shell any longer. I have a voice and I’m going to use it no matter how you try to change me.

Yet I remain quiet.

You’ve folded me into a swan as a symbol of your happiness, but you’ve ignored one major flaw in the design — you’ve given me the wings to fly. You really shouldn’t expect me to stay around with a gift such as these. I will make my escape before you’re able to take me back into your rough hands.

Yet I remain at your side.

My creases can no longer take the stress. You don’t care. You continue folding and unfolding, never satisfied. Finally I tear into a thousand pieces scattering with the wind. I’m now useless to you, so you wander off to find a new piece of paper to destroy.

Yet I will never be useless.

I have the strength to gather every last shred of myself. Out of your grasp, I am able to fold into anything I desire. I’m not used to this freedom, so I fumble with each bend and crease.

Yet I continue.

I’ve created a paper crane with the first scrap. I continue shaping myself, gaining experience with each fragment of my former life. Each of my one thousand torn pieces are now magnificent cranes better than anything you ever made with your uncaring hands. Those who fold one thousand paper cranes are said to be given a wish.

Yet I no longer need one.