In 12th standard, our English teacher asked us to write a short paragraph on our fondest memory from childhood. I immediately raised and waived my hand, drew the entire classes attention and loudly proclaimed that since my childhood was not over, there was still a chance that my fondest memory from childhood was yet to occur and therefore I would not be writing this paragraph (how can I write about something that maybe has yet to occur?). The class laughed.
I said the above either to demonstrate my immense laziness by getting out of the simplest of writing assignments or to show off my amazing flexibility by putting my foot in my mouth. Or maybe it was because I just didn’t feel like an adult.
That was then, 3 years later, approaching 21 I still don’t feel any more of an adult. I keep referring to myself as a kid, and even today in class the word kid slips out of mouth when I refer to well “kids” my age. The class no longer laughs, it groans and moans and I hastily correct myself and replace kid with “Young Adult” (I still can’t say adult, I’m sorry, I’ll compromise, I won’t call you a Kid, but I will definitely not call you an Adult either).
When I look at myself, I see a kid. Not ready to take on responsibility, unwilling to take responsibility (there’s a difference). Financially dependent, emotionally dependent still trying to figure out which rules to break and whether she dares to at all. Turn me out on the streets, and, I am lost. I am sorry, but I am no Adult, in fact I am no adult because all I am capable of right now is being sorry.
That’s the depressing part, the insecure, whiny and dependent kid in me. However there’s the other part, as a kid I have all the time in the world, to find myself, to change myself, do something and find a life worth living. I don’t feel like I need to have it all figured out, carry it all out and die at 40 a successful old Woman. Life stretches out in front of me the kid.
The Kids, sorry, the Young Adults that I see around me seem to have it reversed, they think they’re independent, make all their decisions (who are you to tell me?) and want it all figured out, college Career, Money, the Good Life and Death before they get Old.
I behave like a kid, with my life ahead, to do anything at any age (career change at 80 anyone?), refusing to grow up and take responsibility. They think they’re old, want to be old, try to be mature but are so scared of becoming old that they want to die before they hit 50.
So on this side of the ring we have “the kid” (who’s most probably too scared to become an adult and so makes excuses), and on the other we have “the adult” (who might just be deluded). Who’s going to win? Win what? Happiness, Success, Life. I don’t know.
The class laughed, “grow up” they said “what are you waiting for? Your hair to turn grey? ” Good Advice, and I and all those “young adults” who laughed and gave me this advice will need to do it eventually. Perhaps I said what I said because it struck me as very odd to think of a class full of bratty and immature 17 year olds writing about their fondest memory of childhood. In my mind you need to be a white haired or even better, no haired 90 (500, if science progresses) year old before you’ve grown old enough to refer to a “childhood”, and gained any right to inflict stories about it, fond, miserable or otherwise on others.
