Posted 4 years ago in Adelaide, SA, Australia by kaileybee.
It has been forever and a day since my last post, and I am ashamed to admit that I am out of practice writing. It is ridiculously easy to get out of shape, physically, mentally, and apparently emotionally, and so these first few posts back could be indicative of the fact that I haven’t written for some time. A lot has happened in the past month, many changes, and the result of these changes has been more introspection, more thought, more worrying. I am trying to be omniscient, I am trying to be superhuman. I am not without my faults.
The past few nights when I crawl into bed I get melancholy, thinking about life. And not because I don’t like my life; I do. This sadness has nothing to do with geography or surroundings, and everything to do with the evolution of time, getting older. It’s like I suddenly realized, fully, that nothing is as it was. And this could seem pretty silly, pretty obvious, but it wasn’t to me. The other day I woke up in a bad mood courtesy of a late night (a good night, but late), and was emotional all day long. I wished in that one day a lifetime of wishes; I wished to be young again, to be free, again, to be without the knowledge that I am getting older and that the good times I am reminiscing about (which, truth be told, probably weren’t as glowing as I think they were) are gone, and are not coming back. I wished so strongly for a day in winter, a day when I was say, four years old, helping my dad stir his coffee in the morning. Standing on the little yellow chair in the kitchen in my flannelette nightgown, barely tall enough to reach the cup, watching the water dissolve the instant cappucino powder he used to have. A yellow plastic cup with a red lid. In those days he still took a lunch kit, orange plastic, thermos full of milk, an apple, washed and wrapped in a paper towel, and an onion bun sandwich; I helped my mom pack it and set it by the door. Uniform of blue t-shirt, blue buttoned short sleeve shirt (pocket protector with pens and mini screwdrivers), black pants. Strange what details a child will remember, what moments are imprinted on their mind. To another child, in another family, these details are insignificant. To me, they are mornings at four years old. A carefree ritual before I went on to watch Sesame Street and Fred Penner, before I made crafts with my mom or played with my LiteBrite.
Even four or five years ago, say, when I was nineteen, just out of high school, into university. Thinking that I was going to be the next scholar, the first person in my family to graduate university. Imagining a great world of possibilities, classes that sounded so amazing, assignments that I was going to ace. Buying brand new textbooks, so nothing, no previous scholar, could taint my University experience. I thought going to university was going to be life-changing, a series of “lightbulb moments”, a time when I would (finally) fit in with people. So many people have that experience at university, where they meet new people who become great friends, where they are challenged on a whole new academic plane. For me, university was about a whole other realm of loneliness, isolation, and the realization that if you learn how to work the system, you can squeak by with a degree. Well, that is what I would have learned if I’d stayed, but of course, I never finished. The point is, though, that I had it good. I skipped probably 45% of my classes , I stayed home (even though university is a joke anyway, it’s not really “full-time”…I had Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays off one year) and slept in, or went swimming or to the gym sometimes with my mom. Even when I did go to class, they ended around 2pm so I came home and had hot chocolate in the winter with my mom and brother, and we’d watch episodes of Arrested Development or shows that had been TiVo’ed during the week. I worked and made a lot of money, I had no expenses (living at home and “going to university”), and bought whatever I wanted and went wherever I could. It was carefree and lovely, with so much unscripted ahead of me.
It’s not to say that today I don’t have a lot ahead of me. I’m only almost 24 years old, I’m hardly writing my bucket list or anything like that (although perhaps that would be helpful). The thing is, I AM almost 24 years old. It’s different now than saying “I’m almost 18”, or “I’m almost 20”. The time as passed for committment-free years; no matter where I am in the world I am not going to be living as carefree as I was even three years ago. I’m not young enough to believe that there is an infinite number of things I can do, realism has taught me that no one can do ANYTHING they want, and the older you get the more you realize that. I’m not being pessimistic or cynical, I’m just coming to terms with the fact that I am grown up now, I am not the little girl watching her dad make his coffee and go off to work, I can’t crawl back into bed and decide I don’t FEEL like going to class today, and I can’t run to my mom everything something hurts me. I feel like this is a difficult age to be at, because it is no longer so socially acceptible to be “finding yourself” still, and yet I am still so uncertain about a lot of things. What am I doing with my life? What is my place in this world? Am I a good person? What kind of a person am I? So many questions, and yet now so many other things to worry about as well. It’s painful to grow up, and so sad too, I think.
On the other hand, it is not without it’s excitement and happiness too: I am living with Ryan, in the cutest little unit on the planet, one that I had a hand in painting and preparing and loving. I adore living with this guy, and I hope he feels the same (although it is questionable at this moment when I am supposed to be sleeping as it is nearly 12:30am…and the tapping of the keys is probably keeping him up).
I talked to my auntie the other day, and she told me that she feels the same as I do sometimes, that she wishes for times past, and I think to a degree everyone probably does. I have to remind myself again to live in the present, to appreciate what I have right now, to love it, because no amount of wishing or hoping or reminiscing will turn back time, and that’s okay.