From tens of thousands of excuses I used to find for not doing my homework to the extra hours I put in at nights cutting sleep to submit last-minute assignments, I grew up. I never thought I would wish this hard to undo the process. I remember crying a lot to get a stuffed toy at a supermarket, which I renamed Oregano a few days back because I couldn’t recall what I named it then, the time when it meant a lot to me. Now it feels easier to pretend that I am fine, and concomitantly silence the screaming soul, the running eyes, and the racing heart, just another moment later.
Growing up made me lie often because explaining wasn’t as good a choice. There are a few days now that I feel wonderful, thanks to a bunch of people, and to the motivational quotes, the ones that tell you to keep going and everything. ‘Pollyannaish’ isn’t a much-spotted feeling. I’m so convinced with the argument that feelings are too young to support me at this age that I totally advocate for it in my bio.
If it is just a phase, I want this to pass. Ironically, it is similar to the longing I had to escape springtime to observe autumn to share its despondency. Now I flinch each time I face reality, not because I’m not seemingly mature, but because I believe I have had a lot of it already.
I want to be carefree again. And be able to close my eyes without the fear of falling apart before falling asleep.
And back then, I couldn’t wait to grow up.