Why don't people fly?

"Why don't people fly? Why can't we just get up and fly high above? I am thinking.. I want to get away from here, I want to fly high above. From everything that is here in this world. Why can't I fly like a butterfly from one flower to another. Never stay anywhere, but always going there. There. And why do we live? What is life at all? What are we doing here before we go to the other world?"

I wrote when I was 13. I didn't remember I wrote it. It was my mom who read it to me this morning from the diary I wrote long time ago. She said she was reading it all day, and besides some surprise and maybe even fascination with what she read, she also had a "light bulb" moment. Finally I started making sense to her. It's as if after all this years, she could finally see me.

I always knew I was different. But how did I know that I was SO different? If it took my mother this long to figure me out how long does it take others to "see" me? Most people never will. She said only now could she connect the dots and understand why I was the way I was, reading all those books when I was very young, making my own path in this world..

Am I alone? How do I relate to others who don't understand that we are only visiting here and our lives are not ours but our souls'? Have we forgotten who we are? I have forgotten myself from time to time. But I still chose to remember. I don't want to forget. I still want to know why we can't fly...