Simon says, “Put your right hand up.”
Simon says, “Wave hello.”
Simon says, “Make a happy face.”
Somewhere between school bells and commotion, Simon disappears. Right when we need him the most—when we pick a college major, land the right job, navigate a new country, find a life partner, figure it all out.
We’re so eager to grow up, to build secret tunnels to our best friend’s house. But Simon never mentions rent, taxes, or property value. He doesn’t tell us that sitting next to someone for 14 years can mean nothing. That one heated argument, one boundary crossed, or a few hours of time difference can carry more weight than we’d like. Priorities change. We grow in different ways, at different paces. Nine times out of ten, the only tunnels we get in the 21st century are video calls and voice notes. As much as technology is to blame for diluting our communication skills, I’m thankful for the gaps it bridges. Simon doesn’t tell us about the community we build at university while manoeuvring a new city. The warmth of becoming a regular at a coffee shop. The drunk girl in a random club who becomes your closest confidante. The countless unexpected bonds we form with familiar strangers in our new home away from home.
Italy for the ice cream. Kenya for the safaris. Brazil for the carnival. Australia for diving. Getting a passport stamped seems easy enough. But Simon never says that adults don’t get summer holidays. Or that pointing at something doesn’t mean you get it. He definitely doesn’t mention that syncing everyone’s schedules takes a miracle. So we take what we get and make the most of it—keeping tabs on long weekends, road trips to familiar destinations, flooded camera rolls. Moments as precious as they are fleeting.
We make wishes on eyelashes, 11:11, shooting stars. We’re born dreamers. But Simon never tells us that dreams have limits—that we have to wake up, make ‘practical’ choices, think about the safety net, or avoid the road less travelled. But if we never step out of our comfort zones, how will we ever push boundaries in our own fields? Steve Jobs was always destined to invent Apple. But would its aesthetics be as pristine without his liberal arts background in a tech-driven valley? Leonardo da Vinci was meant to paint the Mona Lisa, but would he have understood light and depth as profoundly without his fascination with science? Simon doesn’t tell us we can do whatever we want, either. Sometimes our paths twist and turn. But that’s what makes the bigger picture even better. If everything were mapped out, where’s the fun? Where’s the adventure?
Love is supposed to be simple—like a Disney movie. We’re supposed to go about our day until we bump into our prince. A tiny obstacle, nothing a little magic can’t fix. Right? Because Simon surely doesn’t say otherwise. He doesn’t say I love you—terms and conditions apply.Caste. Creed. Race. Wealth. Gender. Family background. Social standing. Simon doesn’t tell you that your first heartbreak will change you. That you’ll never give the same way again. He doesn’t say there will be another one, and it’ll be even harder. He doesn’t say that sometimes, we don’t get to choose who we end up loving. But we push through. When it happens, we pick up our broken pieces and glue them back together. Because Simon makes us believe that good things fall apart so better things can come together. That there will always be a happily ever after.
Growing up, I never had an imaginary Simon. I had a very real mum. One who knew what to say at every turn—until she didn’t. But can I blame her? She’s human, after all. And we don’t have built-in iCloud systems to transfer knowledge across generations. Even if we did, we all stop listening at some point. Our individual experiences start to shape us. So does the company we keep and the content we consume. Our prefrontal cortex develops. More often than not, this results in a certain level of hesitancy. But that’s okay. Wouldn’t you rather take your learner’s licence for a spin than have a backseat driver calling the shots?
