My heart is a little grieved today. I never wanted to grow up, I’d say. I wanted to be that kid who enjoyed drawing, painting. learning, reading, dancing, eating, traveling for the rest of my life, I planned and decided on my life much before I knew what decision meant. I started my journal when I was in 6th standard and then I knew, I had a passion for writing too, for languages, for cultures. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with my mother without having to be away from her even for a day.
My life at present is progressing as how adults would say. I never liked somebody calling me a kid. I wanted to be a grown up because I felt I was being mocked for my intelligence. But my actions always spoke louder. I feel sad if I do not get to read, write, think or paint. If I don’t get time to think just think by lying on my bed. I miss those days when I had nothing to do but pass away in dazing at the sky, the stars, feeling the wind blowing against my bosom, smelling the cold air from the mountains. The pine trees and the noise the wind made at night. The shimmer of the moon in the crisp night air.
I was not relaxed then, I am not relaxed now but now I know what I wanted all my life through. I have had so many ambitions, so many desires, something I wanted to do, someone I wanted to become, right now I cant even trace those feelings and remember what made me have those cravings, not even a single one.
is this how growing up means? it doesn’t feel nice at all. Time is fleeting so quickly and no body can make it stop. It is making me anxious. may be i am missing my mother immensely. I want to go back home to her bitter-sweet comments, emerging out of love, her rancor which were not really rancor. How moms are, you know right?
Turing old is worse. Turning old is unstoppable. But what do I do, what can we do at all? Lets just grab the moment. Because this moment is all we have. If this flees too, what are we then left with?