Some say we are awake the moment we come into awareness in this world, shiny, new, and utterly furious for having been disturbed out of the halcyon void. Others say we are awake when we realize what purpose, what great task we have been put here to complete. But I say we are awake the moment we make a connection. Not just any connection, mind you, but a connection with the spirit of another. For, when we can see ourselves reflected back to us from something else, no matter how very different they might be from us, that is when we truly understand feeling alive.

For me, the professor was that thing. He wasn't the only, but he was the first.

To be honest, I never quite figured out what it is he was. All I could reason at that time was that I was very different from him, and the others who look just like him. With the way he stared at me, I could tell that he thought the same thing. But, what did I know about appearances back then, anyway? I had not yet been given the opportunity to see myself; at least not much more than what I could gander through the professor's dusty glass windows.

My professor. He was a beautiful whatever type of thing he was. Brilliant, too! He was the first one I saw when I was filled with warmth and magic. He gave me my first name, and somehow, it sounded like an appropriate name for a thing like him to call a thing like me. 

That first day, I noticed that I was outside in the grass, a bit shaken, and a bit confused. I was weak, and still getting used to myself; so, the best I could manage was to have a look around at my surroundings. I could see the professor through the glass of his big, brown house, bumbling to and fro, writing things in white upon a large, square board. He loved doing that. I suppose it might have been his favourite thing in the world, besides me, of course. Do you wonder how I knew that? Well, because on that first day, soon after I woke up, he had stopped scratching white marks onto that board, and begun making strange noises from his mouth. At first, I didn't know what to make of it, but later on I'd learn what that laughing business was all about. 

At once, he turned and those lovely, green eyes of his fell upon me so that I could see them clearly for the very first time. In all the rest of the days that I would spend with him, I'd never see him smile as brightly.

Our first trip together was a bit rough, I must concede. We were still getting used to each other's presence; so, I suppose in some part it was to be expected. The way he acted toward me on that first trip—brow all crinkled, and babbling in words I could not yet understand—I could tell he was angry, or disappointed, or frightened by me. I know I was doing everything all wrong that first time. No matter how many beams of light he put out of that horn atop of his head to help me, it was still not able to change my ability, nor steady my shaking and shivering form.

Yea, that first day was bad. When we finally returned home, we were both wholly relieved. If I had the wits about me for crying, I would've surely done it to see him looking at me like that, his pallor all green, his legs shivering with fright. He had disappeared into his house at once, and mumbled and scratched things upon the board for the rest of the night. 

It was a while before he came to see me again, but oh, was it worth the wait.

By then, I'd gotten used to being outside. Between you and me, I admit that I am a bit of a chunker. Would have probably knocked things all about, causing a huge disturbance if he were ever to let me inside. Besides, the less I saw of him the more it made the few moments of our meeting that much sweeter an experience. It's funny the way that works, isn't it? I wonder if he ever felt the same way about me.

Our second meeting was probably the most euphoric moment I've ever experienced. He came to me in the early morning, levitating a jumble of odds and ends with that horn of his. The way he smiled at me made me nervous, but I should have known better. I should have known he'd always have my best interest at heart. Got to admit, though, whatever it was he did to help me tickled quite a bit. 

After that, it was all... How do they put it? Smooth sailing? 

I would go on to learn that there were more houses like the professor's, of many different shapes, sizes, and colors. There were more things that looked just like the professor, too, in just as many variances. We never got too close to any of them while we were together, though. At the time, I got the feeling that he didn't care too much for being around the others. He preferred only me as his company, and that notion alone filled me with an indescribable feeling. I was always ebullient, flying high in the sky whenever I felt that feeling, and he liked me best when I was that way. 

The first time I saw trees, they had seemed a bit strange to me. They were immense, peppering the ground by the hundreds, perhaps thousands. Somehow, I could just tell that they had all been stuck that way for a very long time. I couldn't bear to imagine what existence might have been like if I were like them, stark still and silent. As the professor and I would pass by, I could always feel them watching us. They radiated a strange emotion, one that I now recognize as envy. I could tell that they were wondering about me and my professor. I could tell that as ancient and somber as they might have seemed, they wondered what it was like to be us, to move, to see things other than that which they've always seen in those same spots. I couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for them.

The day the professor showed me the big water, there was a fire in my belly. It didn't have quite the same effect on me as his magic did, but it at least seemed to fill me with even more energy, helping me to travel with him farther than I had ever gone before. Granted, I was still very young and inexperienced, but even to this day, the memory of it has stuck with me in a way that is most profound.  

I remember that we went so far that eventually immense green was abruptly interrupted by expansive blue. Something about it had frightened me. It felt elusive, and I wasn't very keen on getting too close to it at first, but I suppose you could say the professor convinced me. He was a good one for that: trying new things. It's in that way that my newest and most current friend reminds me of him the most.

It's difficult for me to explain what water was like. Still but moving, shapeful but not, I barely grazed it, and it felt cool to the touch. Curiosity getting the better of me, I decided to actually take a purposeful look at it. That's how I happened to see myself for the first time, reflected in its surface. Yep. Bit of a chunker, I was. Yet still, I wasn't disappointed; in fact, I very much liked the way that I looked. The professor seemed to like me this way, too, and really, that was all that mattered. 

That was the day that I learned what 'happiness' was; what it felt like. In the naivete of my youth, I thought that that—skitting upon the surface of an  immense blue, alone with the professor—was the only way to go about feeling such a thing. I would eventually learn.

That evening, back on my green patch, I experienced the best rest I'd ever known. There seemed to be a humming in the air. It lilted up and down in a way that proved magnificent, and was so quiet that I very likely might have been imagining it. Maybe that noise was coming from inside of me somewhere. Back then, I didn't know that my spirit was growing. I didn't know what that even meant.

The skies seemed different on the fourth and fifth day. The professor didn't come to see me, and I was sad. I wondered if perhaps I had done something to upset him again. But on the eighth day, just when I thought I might be left to my own devices forever, his shining face appeared through the doorway. He patted my side, and began to speak about our favourite thing: taking trips and spending time together.

I tried for him; I really did. There was nothing that I would have liked better than to spend a peaceful day with my professor! However, the winds were just too strong. I couldn't bear against them, and he couldn't see properly in the rains that would eventually come, brought by things that kind of looked like the professor, except with wings. 

We both seemed so lost and small in the middle of it. Watching the graying of the bright blue above us, I felt a tinge of something else new that day as well. We had quickly returned home before I could think on it, but as the professor locked me up that evening, and the atmosphere began to shout and spark, I finally understood what that feeling was. It was fear.

A useful emotion, fear can be. Not always, but sometimes, it signals to you that something new or unexpected is about to happen. That's what it did for me. It signaled the parting of ways between my beloved professor and me. The wind wanted me for itself. So, it took me wherever it pleased. 

It happened at night, when things were supposed to be calm and quiet. One moment I was on the green, and before I knew it, I was lost.

Couldn't do much other than brace myself, and wait out the wind's rage. It didn't hurt being tossed about like that, but it did make me feel very dizzy. By the time the atmosphere brightened again, and the gales had gotten bored with me, I could no longer decipher where I was. I wished, and begged to everything that I might find my professor during that lonely stretch, but some part of me knew, some part of me understood whilst looking out at that endless, endless world, that I would never see him again. There was a sensation in me at the time; yet another new one. Ironically, it would take a long journey, and my meeting my new girl—a lovely, brilliant, little thing—for me to understand that this was grief, grief for something beautiful that had been lost.

Those days were lonely, but filled with many lessons. For example: I learned to avoid trees. Their jealousy of me knew no bounds. They nearly tore me apart, with those long, snatching arms of theirs! I just knew that they were doing their best to make me as still and silent as they were. I hated them; I'm not ashamed to admit that.

Yet, I pressed on. There was a bit of magic left in me; so, it wasn't too difficult at first. But I could feel it quickly fading, and rued the day it would completely leave me. 

Over hill and dale, river and mountain I roamed, and soon the passage of time ceased to exist. I had no friend, and knew no home. I became dirtied, tattered, and weak until the day came that I knew I could go on no further. 

Looking up above me whilst I sank to the ground, I could again see those flying things, the ones that looked just like my long lost professor. As the wicked trees reached out to receive me, all I could think of was how jealous I now was of those flying things. The trees had envied me because I could move, and now I envied those fliers because they could choose where to move. They were far beyond something like me, one who remained at the mercy of the wind.

One of them shouted something up there, but I couldn't quite make out what it was. Then at once, the whole lot of them gazed down upon me. To tell you the truth, in my state, none of that really mattered to me. I was tired, made wretched with neglect, and had long since begun to believe that this was the way it would always be. The warmth of the magic that I had first experienced had gone, and even as I watched the flying flock slowly descending toward me, I drifted off into thoughtless listlessness.


But I say we are awake the moment we make a connection.


I don't know what it is about the brilliant ones. I suppose they just see something in me. And, likewise, I saw something in her. 

When I awoke to that familiar feeling of warmth and magic, I found myself hoping beyond hope that it was my long lost professor who had returned to me, or I to him. Instead, I was met with the sight of another being, similar to him, but with purple all around. Pretty and very bright, she patched me up, and made me into a color that resembled her own. 

I was on grass again, except this time, I sat surrounded by tall towers and white walls. Noting how refreshed I felt, I took the opportunity to glance at myself in the glass of a nearby window, and...

Oh, my. I couldn't  recall ever having felt so lovely as I did at that very moment. Adorned in frills and stars, I didn't even know what to make of myself at first, but soon I realized. I was important, and that was it. Someone brilliant had been drawn to me again, and I imagined that now I showed that fact off to the world. 

Turning toward me when she was through, my new companion smiled at me, and gave me a new name, a name that I still love. 'Twinkling' was what she called me.

It was on the very next day that we took our first trip together, just like the professor and I used to. The skies were blue, and the way was clear. She kept saying a name as she stared down at her map. It sounded like "Ponyville," so Ponyville was where I took us.

We landed gently right in the center of town. I didn't want to land there since I had never before been so close to so many of these things, but like the professor, my new girl, Twilight, had a way of convincing me. 

She had a way about her that made me beam, and I suppose that showed too. For not even one minute passed after our landing before others began to approach me. They were numerous, and stood by my sides, poking and prodding. I was worried at first, fearful that they might think me odd or strange. After all, the professor had told me long ago that he didn't imagine there was another thing quite like me in all the land. 

And yet, despite my apprehension, they all smiled, and shouted.

"Why, I've never seen a contraption so lovely in all my days."

Thank you. She made me this way.

"How high do you suppose it can fly?"

Right up through the clouds if you'd like.

"Do you suppose she might let me have a ride in it?"

I couldn't imagine why not. I've got plenty of room to spare.

Laughter surrounded me, a lovely sound that I personally think my Twilight should learn to make more often. Maybe in time. Perhaps some others can teach her about the power of warmth and magic just as she and the professor have taught me. After all, if they can learn to love something as odd and silent as I, then surely she should have no problems.