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Maturity Versus Youth
It’s true, that when I was younger, I couldn’t wait to be with you. To be a woman wearing high heels, dealing with complicated love issues over a hot cup of coffee with one carefully shaped brow raised.
But...now that I’m practically here, I don’t like it anymore.
Though it’s true there have been good things like more freedom and first experiences, albeit scary but thrilling.
But lately it’s getting harder and harder, and I can't help but blame you for this current state of things.
It’s only been 16 years and already my sanity is on the very edge.
Your constant nagging and values being shoved in my face make me feel trapped; I simply cannot handle it anymore. You are the epitome of shit.
So Maturity, this is the time when I have to tell you “I want out”.
I’m sick of the way you treat me. One minute you’re dragging me through the mud, making me deal with things I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy, then when I reach breaking point, you suck up to me, giving me trinkets in the form of magazines, clothing or some extra cash. As if I can be bought back. Which I suppose I can...
And when you really feel like playing games with my mind, you bring back memories. Memories of a shielded childhood, where nothing could or would ever hurt me. You wave the smell of play-do, the feel of grass under bare feet and the taste of forbidden chocolate just out of my reach, torturing me with feelings of desperation and longing, with no cure.
Don't pretend like you can't remember. And now that there’s the slightest threat to our relationship, here you come, right on cue, crawling at my feet.
All I want is to soften your screeching. To quiet that constant high pitched raspy whisper in my ear, constantly reminding me of how to please people, proper manners and community approval.
You are nothing compared to Youth. He was what made me what I am today. He never judged me.
He let me make mistakes, roll down grassy hills, snort when I laugh, dance in public, have secret crushes, tell my deepest secrets to those I dared to trust, have tantrums and make a fool of myself in general. But BOY was that fun.
You could never understand that.
You never understood that maybe the cage you have formed for me is stunting my individuality. Maybe if you let me cut loose, just a few times, we wouldn’t be where we are now. Maybe if you'd let me cut loose every once in a while, allowed me to learn that standing on the edge of a small cliff with a shallow river below it is not a very good idea, or that authority figures are sometimes full of crap, things would be different.
Instead, here I am, telling you how it is. Straight and true.
So now I turn to look at my sister. Beautiful in a way only 2 year olds can be. And I envy her. She and Youth have a good relationship...
I wish I could tell her not to waste her time with Youth. To treasure every single moment of naivety, but Youth has a way of blocking that. I guess that’s all part of the deal.
The more I write, the angrier I feel. That's all you have to offer me Maturity - a constant feeling of anger and annoyance; a stuffy old school room with no room to change.
Change. You couldn’t wait for me to do that. Were you embarrassed by me? The young me? Who didn’t know it was ‘stupid’ to wear miss-matched socks to school because you ‘felt like it’ and just found it somewhat amusing and funny. Youth accepts me for who I really am, and we're going to be with each other again. We are going to run away - screaming and yelling our thoughts into words - not worrying what anyone else might think!
So please take your confining thoughts and your brutal way of cutting someone down, right out of my life.
Youth and I are going to the park now, and there’s nothing you can do to stop us. AND I’m going to wear odd socks.