First and foremost, I need to get something out of the way:
I am addicted to hands and the concept of “youth.”
I’ll try to tone down the hand-centered images next time and I’ll also try to venture into a different field for things to write about. But for the time being, these two things are something that are well, for the lack of better words, me.
Here’s my second piece I wrote when I was just about to turn 20 last year. Time flies by! Grab a cup of joe and enjoy!
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Within a month, I am going to hit the big two-oh. I refuse to use numbers because it makes it much more real and legitimate to me, sort of like a stamp or a signature that you never agreed to use.
Call me overly melodramatic, but there’s an ardent part of me that wishes to stay nineteen. In Tokyo, the legal age is twenty, thus automatically; I will become a legal adult. I attach a load of connotations to my age. Nineteen is an awkward stage where you’re sort of like an adult, but simultaneously, still on the cusp of teenage-hood. It’s not a milestone, exactly. Nor does it feel like an accomplishment. Being nineteen is the steppingstone towards adulthood; it’s the means to an end- if you consider becoming an adult the end result. But I like the fact that I’m at that in-between stage. I’m neither here nor there, (or maybe I’m here and there at the same time…) I’m seen as old from younger kids, and considered as young from older folks. Nineteen is malleable, flexible, and adaptable depending on how you wish to use the number and that my friend, is the beauty of it. I want to dwell in the pool of my age. I want to stay lost, and wander deeper into the forest of my being whilst I’m still a teenager.
I admit it: I glorify glamorize teenage years.
I like the idea and the fantasy of teenage-hood. Blame it on the media, but every time I think of teenagers, I think of: the spark of discoveries, the rush and adrenaline rushing through your blood in the midnight wind, the sweet taste of first love, and the ultimate feeling of freedom and rebellion in your hair. It’s hard to fit the notion of teenage-hood into a coherent sentence. Being a teenager is like having an entire galaxy within you that you only know of. It can be agoraphobic and scary sometimes. Heck, it can even be downright lonely and alienating to be in your ever-changing body and mind. But each new experience is another addition to your innermost self. You carry stars, moons, and planets with you everywhere you go. It’s about feeling feelings for the first time: love, lust, and heartbreak. It’s when you do things you aren’t supposed to, it’s when you break free, and it’s when you live in the moment over and over again.
Perhaps the things I described above aren’t exclusively applicable to teenagers. Time is, after all relative, and the idea of being a teenager was socially constructed long ago. It is indeed possible to feel sneaky and badass in your twenties, thirties, and even beyond. But for the time being, I’m scared. I’m afraid of losing that title of being a teenager. Tell me; am I crazy to feel like this? Perhaps.
I am still not ready to be deemed responsible as an adult. I am still not ready to let go of the last strand of my teenage-hood, the extension of my childhood, which I do miss dearly. It’s like kissing sweet, sweaty summers goodbye. It’s like saying farewell to an old friend, knowing that you will only occasionally see each other.
No one wants to hear me complain and mope around. I should be giving life-changing advice and revolutionary life hacks to make your life easier. Alas, there is no shortcut in life where you can use ten tips to improve your life, or five ways to be happy. But it is this very complex playground we call life that makes it interesting. So bear with me here, if you were looking for a self-help read. I won’t be blue for too long.
As a clumsy and untidy mess of a human being, I am not good with wrapping things up. As you can see, endings are not my forte. I prefer beginnings, the initial doorway to infinite possibilities. And that’s what being a teenager is like to me. I am at the start line of life. Everything that came before that is preparation for what lies ahead. But I do not know what is on the path right in front of me. It is a void, threatening but exciting all at once.
I haven’t found the answer I was looking for via writing this piece, but that’s okay with me. I was looking for comfort, some form of reassurance that it’s normal to feel this way about turning twenty. I didn’t jump into the arms of solace, but I found out that exploring what it feels like to be nineteen is therapeutic in itself, sort of like an ablution of the soul. The important thing, I realized whilst putting my thoughts here, is simple. I’m nowhere near ready to become twenty, but no one is. We are not given a choice to grow older. Life pushes you to the periphery of youth, and leaves you there. No one is prepared for the calamities life thrusts upon us. I am not alone. I am not the only one adamant to stay a teenager. I am less scared, albeit still unsure about turning twenty. I’m still naïve and dumb as I’ve ever been. But I do know one thing. As long as I keep my inner teenager alive and well, I will be just fine.