I’ve been thinking about how I’d like to be remembered, recently. To be clear, I’m not going anywhere. But I’ve sort of been mourning my youth the past few months. God no, I’m not that old (if anyone asks though, I’m 19 ok??). But in the past six months, I’ve had amazing, brilliant, wonderful things happen to me; opportunities given to me, and dreams in the process of being made. I’ve also experienced deep loss, fear, challenges and impending DOOM.
I’m so unfinished, obviously. But I feel terrified some nights, around 2am when I get to thinking about what’s to come, and what’s been already. I feel incredibly aware of how short life is, and it almost tightens around my heart with an iron grip.
I feel like I spent all my life looking forward to becoming a grown up. And now I’m here, and I don’t want it. I want to trade it in, give it to someone else, wait a while longer.
Of course I know age is just a number, and it certainly isn’t the number that keeps me awake at night; staring out at the city lights, feeling the need to run in the night air. It’s all the other shit that comes with the number. The responsibilities, the fear of not making bills, the friends having kids, the tick tock of strangers telling me to have children of my own, the buying houses, the choosing a ‘proper’ job, the settling down, the talking about fine wines when I’m much more at home with cheap vodka.
Okay, even if I can deal with all that shit; because like, first world problems.
What about all the stuff I’m losing?
Those nights lying in a field at 3am with one of my best friends talking about aliens, hair getting wet with dew, eyes red from that cheap vodka I mentioned. Or that weird tradition we had, where I’d go over to his house every Thursday evening and we’d get drunk. We’d try to put a fun spin on it each week, calling it ‘Theme Thursdays’ – except the theme was always to just be loud, get drunk, have his parents scream at us, then walk home at an ungodly hour.
Or maybe those parties we all used to have, for every tiny celebration possible; birthdays, new year, Summer, Fridays… We’d find someone with a ‘free house’ and invade it for the evening. Consuming more vodka than advised, taking drunken photos, falling down stairs, playing games, getting into fights, being dicks.
Now we all have ‘free houses’ but haven’t all spent time together in years. There’s kids, or jobs, or partners. I miss being that girl who crawled on the floor at a party, I miss seeing my best friend cry in a bathtub because her boyfriend ‘looked at her funny’, and then telling her to shut up crying and take a selfie with me, before it was even called a selfie (I still have these photos btw, I’m so emo, and she’s extra emo, with mascara all down her face, but still smiling at the camera out of sheer loyalty).
I miss texting ‘What u upto?’ ‘Nothin’, why?’ ‘Wanna come over and hang out?’ ‘Yep, cya in half hour’. I mean, except it was never half an hour because we were always fucking late. If by some miracle this happened today, bitch better not be late, nobody has the time to spare anymore. Speaking of which, it amazes me how much time we all wasted being late for everything. I remember my first ‘date’ with someone I was almost two hours late. I kept saying I was on my way, while panicking about my hair at home. He put up with that for another 3 years, just FYI.
Spontaneous tattoos, silly dares, sleepovers, agreeing to hand in College work late, skipping classes, car trips, beach days, empty streets, thick heavy eyeliner, late night busses, ripped tights, live bands, absolutely hating your parents for something ridiculous, wondering what ‘grown up you’ will be like, your favourite band meaning more than anything, glitter hairspray, writing in an actual journal, feeling like a loser and not realising just how absolutely amazing you were.
So much of this is in the past for me. A relief and a cruel joke in unison.
I miss so badly not knowing anything, and not having a clue. I’m not saying I have it all together these days (NO REALLY, I’M NOT); but like, being truly clueless was sort of beautiful, y’know?
There’s perks, sure. But I’m not certain I love this ‘grown up’ malarkey.
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