The Death of Cinderella


The little feet dance to the theme song of Cinderella. Those tiny lips lip-sync the lyrics as her little hands hold her sister’s arm. She pretends to be Cinderella swaying with her Prince Charles.

I was a Cinderella in my own fairy land living in my own fairy world. Cinderella was my favorite among all Disney princesses. I felt like I was “Ella”. “Ella” was named Cinderella because she always sat near the cinders to keep herself warm. Cinderella was poor, mistreated by her step mother and step sisters. I felt I was her because like Cinderella, I felt I was misunderstood and mistreated by everyone. I had some really good friends like Cinderella had her friends; the mouse, the dog and the birds.

Like every other little girl, the best part about Cinderella was her love story with Price Charles. The Prince takes her away from her miserable life and makes her a princess of his world. I wanted to be that loved princess. I wanted a prince to love me so much and wipe all my tears to fill me with warmth.

The little Cinderella grew up. I was older and accepted the role of tom boy who didn’t find fairy tales fascinating. But even though I was ashamed to admit, the little girl that lip synced to the theme song of Cinderella was always hiding inside me.

A year ago, I met someone, a prince. It was a dark night but when his eyes met mine, I saw it glistening and twinkling. I’d never seen that anticipation and happiness on someone’s eyes to see me. Cinderella fell in love with the prince. Life couldn’t have been better. The first couple of days, Cinderella could not eat, sleep or even think of anything other than him. Cinderella was on cloud nine.

It was the happiest moment of my life. The little girl in me was overjoyed but in the heat of excitement, she could not grasp the dispassion of Price Charles. One day, I fell. I fell from the clouds I was hovering on. I fell so hard; I thought I could never recover.

When I fell, the little girl who believed she was Cinderella died. She was crushed so mercilessly that it was impossible for her to come back alive. But I survived. I thought I wouldn’t but I did. I survived but the wounds of the part of me being torn apart never healed. I tried forgetting the part of me but some things can never be forgotten.

“There will be many Princes”, I hear people say. But the moment Cinderella met Charles can never be relived, recreated or forgotten.

I used to curse Charles for killing the most special part of me. He’d killed the Cinderella I wanted to be. But later, I realized that Charles did not just kill Cinderella but murdered her. He did it for me and for good. I believed I was weak and I needed Charles to save me from the misery I was in. I was not strong enough to face everything myself and I wanted someone’s shelter. When he came in my life, I thought he’d take all my pain away but he brought me back to reality that there is no Cinderella, there is no Charles. I’m responsible to pull myself back up again. When I faced reality, I was broken but as every piece I collected of myself, he was there to show me the pieces and tell me how to pick it up. I cut myself sometimes but he told me how to give myself first aid. He never did it himself, but he wanted me to learn and grow.

Prince Charles became a really good friend again to me and not Cinderella. But he never ceased to be a prince because together or apart, he will always be those glistening eyes that I fell for.


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