This afternoon, as I sat looking out at the garden, I put my phone down and let my thoughts wander. Suddenly, the travelling circus from the book I read as a child came back to me – the laughter, the coins tossed into hats, the illnesses, the losses, and the quiet determination to keep going. It is no longer just a childhood memory. Somehow, it has never really grown old. Instead, it seems to be looking back at me through the eyes of the present.

I cannot help wondering why so many people love Vitalis’s little circus. Is it simply because it brings together such beautiful souls? Or, if we look a little closer, is it actually a pattern that keeps repeating itself everywhere, in every generation?

Perhaps people admire a wise man like Vitalis but only after life has worn him down, when he is no longer at the height of his influence. A brilliant mind, still capable of questioning, challenging, and shaking old assumptions, often makes people uncomfortable. Only when that wisdom is no longer seen as a threat do they freely praise it. That is not always genuine respect for knowledge; sometimes, it is simply the comfort of knowing that a great mind has already been disarmed.

Sometimes people also love an innocent boy like Rémi. Yet that innocence is often cherished because it is gentle, obedient, and does not know how to resist. It allows others to feel generous and compassionate without ever having to face difficult questions or be challenged by the very person they claim to be protecting.

The three loyal dogs represent another quality that many systems quietly long for: unconditional devotion. To work, to sacrifice, to remain loyal without questioning, without asking for anything in return, and without pushing back. Loyalty is a beautiful virtue, but when it is valued only because it means obedience, it easily becomes a tool that serves someone else’s interests rather than honouring the loyal person themselves.

And then there is Joli-Cœur, the monkey who exists to entertain the crowd. There is nothing wrong with laughter. But in real life, people are often drawn to effortless entertainment, repeating trends, and copying one another without thinking. Whatever brings quick amusement is celebrated; whatever demands deeper thought is easily ignored, sometimes simply because it is too difficult to accept. Or perhaps it is simply because, deep inside, we are saying, “I feel empty. Please entertain me, because I no longer know how to bring joy to myself.” Then, when Joli-Cœur dies, frozen to death, while Vitalis and Rémi can offer only tears with their empty pockets… outside, countless other circuses are already waiting for the lights to come on.

Perhaps that is why Vitalis’s circus is more than just a travelling show in literature. It feels like a mirror held up to society, a place where people often embrace only what does not threaten them, admire values that have already been “tamed,” and unconsciously shy away from minds, personalities, or truths that might force them to rethink themselves. In the end, they are willing to spend generously on loud, short-lived entertainment for a quick dopamine hit, yet carefully measure every ounce of quiet loyalty, sincere devotion, and even the challenges that come with personal growth and evolution.

Perhaps the question worth asking is not how much we love Vitalis’s little circus, but whether, in this life, we are searching for someone to grow alongside… or simply looking for a circus that suits our own needs.