Memoirs of an Amnesiac

“Yuck!” This was what one sixth grader told me when in class I mentioned about how one lady in a fairy tale kissed a frog and it magically morphed into a prince. Well, apart from the disgusting nuances that idea would have orchestrated in our minds, we all actually (while struggling through puberty and pubescent mood swings), believed it with all our hearts, sans the reality that kissing frogs is never romantic.

Hans Christian Anderson (that writer whose love relationships were always unrequited) must have retold this tale or may my children’s literature professor forgive me for citing it wrongly. Another fact that is also quite questionable is that do fairy tales really have to be so magical? Yet for the life of me, this has been ingrained in my psyche and had been the well meaning dogma that I must admit I quite adhere to when it comes to getting to know and loving someone.

In science class, we learn about the life stages of the frog and even had to play with tadpoles that are bred in water puddles after a long rain. We knew they are not a sight to behold. First they appear to be fishes with those two hind legs. Small wonder we scoop them with our hands and cook them like we do with fishes.
Then, we realize that later they look rather hideous with their front legs. Their tongues range from being sticky to poisonous, that is, depending on their breed. Their diets consists of anything smaller than they are (or maybe bigger) and they love frolicking on water lilies or lotus plants.

Not quite attractive. But why are princes compared or allegorized as frogs (OMG, of all amphibians!)? For some reason, do animals somehow resemble human counterparts? I only have these musings in mind.

For one, princes don’t become princes overnight. In chivalric times (where knights in shining armors thrive), princes, like all those that are worthy of the throne, need to overcome challenges and prove their worth (like frogs growing legs for locomotion). They sit on lotus pods and water lily leaves, waiting for who knows what, probably a maiden that would soon believe in them.

What is it that propels women to kiss the frogs in their lives? To continue to believe that behind that rather ugly exterior is a prince waiting to be brought out into the open? What makes them risk and shove and throw caution to the wind when it comes to loving? No one ever assured them that the frogs will turn out to be valiant princes. But they do believe with all their hearts. To the erudite mind, this is quite foolish. But maybe loving is about risking appearing foolish.

I don’t kiss frogs, well, not literally. But I do believe that behind every man’s ugly exterior is a soft and tender heart. This is probably the reason I understand women who still give the man in their lives (no matter how long they have waited) a chance and room for growth. However, I’m not sold out for martyrdom. That’s rather too noble and tenuously borders on stupidity. What I’m trying to point out is, whether it applies to men or frogs, everybody deserves to be believed in, to be given the chance to grow and commit mistakes and learn from them. To be given the option to fall without prejudice on their worth, and to be understood that they too have knees which they are most likely to bend when the load tends to be very heavy. To be appreciated for all their worth—assets and liabilities included.

Kissing frogs is a huge leap of faith. No wonder those who do turn out to be lovely princesses.