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Archive Series: Not Really an Adult

I wrote this when I was 21 years old. I’m now 25 and it really is like re-learning who I am. As creatives we sometimes forget who we once we’re and downplay our past self’s intelligence and emotional capacity. The only difference now is that I definitely make an effort to dress as an adult

I feel like others my age are adults, while I am only in disguise.

-Cat’s Eye, Margaret Atwood

I’m 21 years young. Not old, not old at all. In both appearance and mind. Possibly to many I’m still a teenager. I look at people I learnt with on elementary school. I see them living by themselves with their boyfriends and expecting children. It’s like a world separate from my own. I still feel too young. I’m not quite ready to face it yet.
I still believe in achieving my goals and dreams. I believe with the stubbornness if a five-year old. * ” I want to be fairy!” ” Okay, sweetie,” I give a smug smile. But now I’m not so young. I say my dreams and people from all around try to crash them down. So learnt to keep them to myself. Better to safeguard them.
At this age I’m supposed to be practical. I’m supposed to have resigned myself to a mundane, predictable adult life routine without “outrageous” expectations. I tried that once. I nearly got depression. The thought of doing that for the rest of my life was worse than anything I could imagine.
I’m already being given pressure to get married of which I actually love and believe in marriage. Especially young marriage. But marriage is not something you do just for the sake of being married. It is for me a union of two people who will build each other to achieve their goals and dreams. It’s not settling down, but shooting up. Why should I spend the rest of my life with someone that brings me down?
My dreams and thoughts like the one I mentioned about marriage aren’t exactly popular with people. I’m the girl that needs to grow up. But what is growing up exactly? By my examination, what most people call growing up is giving up doing anything extraordinary. Extraordinary is an interesting word is it not? Extra-ordinary…above ordinary. Why do people dread what is above ordinary? Does it hurt them to see someone do something that can break boundaries? Is it because they don’t have the guts to do it themselves? It’s ridiculous. If I were to call a person “ordinary” they’d be insulted, but flattered if I called them “extraordinary”. So why don’t more people choose to be “extraordinary”?
Perhaps my adult disguise will become more convincing when I’m paying my own bills, owning my own properties and have little monsters…I mean angels sneaking into the kitchen to steal cookies. Probably not though because I’ll be stealing cookies with them. No amount of perceived successful socialization will able to rob me of who I am. I may become what society expects of an adult. Responsible,marital, parental, sexual ( not before honeymoon, we Christian :P) , but it may always be a disguise.
I guess some will say that I’m running away from growing up. No, I’m not. My body is growing up with or without any form of activity from me. It is impossible to run away from it. But I suppose I’m resisting being run over socialization and the societal expectations that make me suffocate.
Why do I wear this adult disguise anyway? So that certain people accept me? Do I really need their approval? Am I suffocating without knowing it? No, I’m not suffocating. But I’ve been holding my breath for too long. I might faint or fade or forget who I am. I take a deep breathe. Exhaling all the bull. Step in front of the mirror. I remove my disguise and see the real me after a long time.
She is smiling, her eyes sparkle. She is six years old. Never been burned or hurt. Never been told dreams can’t come true. Never been told to restrict her cartwheels. Still pretending to believe in Santa Claus to get more presents.
“Hello”


This little snippet made me nostalgic. I find it interesting that I mentioned keeping my ideas to myself here. I wonder where I forgot that wise piece of knowledge. I suppose as life goes on one can forget the wisdom that carried them through like King Soloman.

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