My kid cousin turned 18 yesterday. Which means she is not a kid any more. Or that is how she must be feeling right now, am sure.
That is how I felt when I turned 18.
The whole ‘becoming a major’ part was a big turn-on. Just imagine! I could vote, drive, tell off people with an “I know what am doing” look. The opportunities were endless. And, my silly mind waited and waited for grand 18 so that I could finally be free of those undefined shackles of childhood while my friends plotted behind my back to make it special. Special it was, I remember vividly. It still remains special, though I wonder whether life would have been a tad different and perhaps much better had it not been special.
But, that is not a story for this blog. Let’s move on.
Today, when I am 25 and have still not figured out life, I look back at those 7 years – 7 long years. And, I want my 7 years back.
No, I don’t want to reverse things, however good or bad they might have been. In fact, I am quite OK with how ‘life’ has turned out.
In these 7 years, I have run around like mad, chased behind things of no consequence, been rude and impatient and angry over little events, fretted over that which would never have been mine for eons together.
I wish I had not been so hard on myself, I wish I had taken it a little easier while I still could have. I wish I had been happier than I was with all the things I had, and not been consumed with bitterness over things that I did not.
I wish I had enjoyed the chocolate without worrying about how to dispose the wrapper.
My not-so-kiddish-anymore kid cousin would never read this. At least not presently. She is way too impatient and consumed with her life right now. Just like how I was then. But, perhaps, she would handle her 7 years much better than I did mine.
Perhaps, I will handle my next 7 years better than I did this. Or, at least I won’t write about it like how I have.
Maybe, I won’t be writing anymore then. After all, this blog did not exist in the last 7.