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But Viv, if I’ve learned anything at all in the last eight years of my life? It’s that people just like to tell themselves stories about where they came from. They can’t help themselves. They don’t trust the world around them–it’s too good for them, or not good enough–so they tell themselves stories about it. They tell themselves an old magician who lives up in the sky made them out of clay and put them here until whenever he makes up his mind to take them out again. Your parents didn’t like their creation myth, that’s all–it had pain in it, and chaos, and their own parents were ashamed. So they told themselves a story that was at least partially true: about two good people who deserved happy lives. And probably at some point they started to believe that story. But the thing is, really, that it doesn’t matter. For your parents or anyone else. It doesn’t actually matter where we came from, or where we’re going, or when. The only thing that matters is what we have to do while we’re here and how well we do it.
