I am twenty seven.
But that doesn’t mean much. It’s just a number of years that I’ve been here, you know, around. However, that number we all call ‘age’ has a lot of attachments to it – a lot of expectations, primarily. Somehow, the bigger that number gets and they know exactly how your life is like, the more questions pop up. Questions beginning with ‘who, what, where, when and how much.’
It’s not really a big number, twenty seven. And to be honest with you, it really doesn’t mean much compared to those who’ve been around long enough to see how the world and time has changed. What I have had in my life so far, is but a small footnote compared to the lives of those who have been gifted with longetivity.
The thing is, here, in where we live, that number means a lot to other people, particularly family. When being someone you want to be and being someone that they want you to be are two different things at this stage, the questions pop up so much more often, you’d want to avoid being in a family gathering. If I craved their affection and attention at the halfway point of my life from this point in time, now I’m getting it, just when I’ve gotten over seeking and wanting all that.
What’s my point? I don’t think I have one. I just gotta say this:
Being older doesn’t make one invulnerable to failure or failing at things that we’ve come to take for granted. Being older doesn’t secure the fact that one will make the right decisions all the time. Being older doesn’t protect one from stupidity or carelessness or indifference or misplaced courage. Being older simply means that when something happens, you’re better equipped with enough experience to deal with it. Acceptance, responsibility and learning. Being older means seeing how much we have changed with the way we used to see and deal with life from when we were younger.
I may be twenty seven. But I really am not much older, now that I’m reading what I wrote.
But I’m growing up. And I’ve decided to do just that.