sábado, 19 de mayo de 2012
I’m terrified of growing up. Terrified of becoming an adult.
Yesterday I wanted it to be just another night of no recklessness but total youth. Enjoying the night out with my friends and embracing Summer before having to go back to the reality of college. I wanted to enjoy being 19 and in the borderline of having to face the adult-world soon enough.
And then I get this obsessive best friend. Obsessive, because he’s obsessed with the idea of growing old. Of becoming a man of the family, and having to take care of himself. Throwing so many ideas at me of living alone and being an independent human being. And I threw everything back at him—I did. I don’t live in Puerto Rico anymore, I merely visit a couple times in the year. I take care of myself, live by myself, work for myself. I’m an independent human being who gets into arguments with her mother a couple times a month (when in college) because sometimes I forget to call home.
I’m living away and being independent successfully, yet, I’m still not an adult. I refuse to be. I refuse to see myself as a grown human being. I’m 19—not yet 20, much less 21. I’m an adult in a way, yes, but I’m not ready for the responsibilities that come with it. I’m a young adult… I’m learning. I don’t want to get married yet, or have children. I want to study and see the world… I want to bask in my youth for as long as I can. I want to be 25 and still be a young adult… I want to keep being myself for as long as I want, without having to go through the painful routine of working every day to pay off debts and dealing with life day-to-day.
The conversation in that car got heated… It suddenly turned into me and me not wanting to face the future. And I ended the conversation in a quiet rage, wanting to yell out so many things but choosing to stay quiet the whole way. But then, just as the conversation turned on me, I realized that the rage towards him I had turned it on myself. I was mad at myself—mad at me for being scared of the future, for not liking it because of not being able to control it. Mad at me for letting that phobia keeping me from so many things.
But I still can’t let it go… I want to deal with now, be young as much as I can. I want to stay in this phase of life for whenever possible, because I know it—it is familiar to me. Growing up and dealing with the world… That is so new, so indecisive. So unprecedented… So uncontrollable. So I sat there, still being 19, thinking of being 25 and realizing how not-so-far it is… And taking in the pain of not being able to know what is going to happen six years from now.