When I was younger, my favourite movies were the Star Wars films. We never had cable, but on weekends I used to love watching one of the three original films, over and over again, and I'd never tire of them. I remember, I had stacks of notebooks I would doodle in only when watching those films, drawing the space crafts and the aliens - and myself as a jedi, of course. I would draw an imaginary life for myself in the future, living in a different galaxy, maybe as an ambassador or liaison for my distant blue-green planet.
I never wanted to be an astronaut. That always seemed to complicated, and dangerous, and not very much fun to me. Too much time spent eating freeze-dried ice cream, not enough aliens to talk to and fight battles with. But I did always want to go into space.
I think what appealed to me was the idea of being able to hop onboard the Millennium Falcon and go anywhere I wanted. I wanted to leave everything that was known to me, discover strange and wonderful places, have wild adventures, and travel to exotic planets with two moons. The more I think about it, in a way, I grew up and did just that.
I hopped on an aircraft, and flew off into the horizon. When I disembarked, I stepped out onto a new planet. Beautiful, old, and painted in shades of green, gold, and grey. My first impression was that it felt stern, but kind. Though it is crumbling slightly, it still emanates a sense of majesty; an old king whose stubborn jaw is yet visible through a white beard. Strong bones protruding from under wrinkled skin.
The old is juxtaposed with the new on every street. Walls chip away to reveal the layers of old colors, what is now white or cream was once painted a sea foam blue or Mariinsky green, the traditional shades peeking through the secular, modern exterior. So too is the modern crudely pasted over the classic. It's as though the youth of the city slashed at the concrete, splattering the walls with garish shades of crimson, a desperate search for colour in the long, grey winters. They've tattooed the old city with their words and symbols, but I think Peter wears it with dignity. Like an aged sailor, perhaps, or a marine.
I never went to space, though perhaps the essence of the dream came true. I think my eight year old self would be satisfied, even without the Millennium Falcon currently at her disposal, and that's a cheering thought.