i always wanted to grow up, until i slowly started becoming one
I’ve always been a dreamer since I was a kid. I always had those fancy fantasies about my life for the next few years. I always expected something and felt like something was waiting for me.
I thought about growing up as a dream. But now that I’m nearing it, I dream of being a child again.
I thought when I reached eighteen, I could finally be free and do anything without restrictions. When I reached adulthood, I could be anywhere I wanted. I would finally be out of my cage and find the value of my wings.
My childhood days were filled with tears and cold sweats, loneliness and darkness. It was the kind of childhood I wish I could change if given a chance. This is the reason why I kept looking forward to my adult years. Perhaps there, I could have the things I lost as a kid. Perhaps there, it would be different. I would be different.
And now in my sixteenth year, I start to fear the next few years. Two years before I turn eighteen. Two years before college. The age I’ve been waiting for. It would be a lie if I said nothing changed after my childhood days; a lot changed, including my dreams. Including how I see my dreams. My life. Myself.
I have come to doubt the dreams envisioned by the child in me. I have come to fear if I’m capable or not. I have come to realize if I still have a dream or not. I have come to the point where I have nothing to look forward to anymore. The bliss awaiting me is slowly fading. The fire is slowly dying. The jar of my dreams is slowly emptying. I’m slowly losing all of it. Everything.
A tear would drop if I came face to face with my younger self. The fire in her is igniting with passion. She carries lots of goals. Her mind is loaded with whimsical fantasies of where she’ll be by this specific time. She’s very unlike me. She believes without a dream, life is monochrome. A colorless world.
In a few more weeks, another school year will open. I feel no emotion about it. I’m confused about the right emotion to wear. One thing is for sure — I’m scared. Scared that whatever I choose, I’ll only regret it. Scared that wherever I enter, it won’t feel like home. Scared for myself, whether I can do it or not.
It’s suffocating — overthinking the unknown. Trying to stay in the moment, but my mind won’t let me. It’s a hard battle.
I keep hoping that today will be the last day I’ll drown myself in this ocean of complexity. Going back and forth to the schools we’re considering — it’s exhausting. At the end of the day, we always end up choosing nothing. Nothing. It’s lethargic.
They say to choose what I want. But that’s the hardest part — I’m unsure of what I want. Or maybe it’s not that I’m unsure, I’m insecure. Insecure about the people I’ll associate myself with. I’m not good enough while they are all dabsters. I lack a lot of things while they’ve got everything. It’s home for them, while I just get astray. Just the passerby that’s not supposed to stay.
Maybe this isn’t due to confusion. It’s due to fear. Fear of getting lost in someone else’s home.
I’m scared, but I have to choose. Whatever that will be, I hope it’s something I can call home.
I wrote this way back in 2022 when I was still choosing the right school for my senior years. I was confused and scared about whether I’d be in the right place. Now, I’ll write about what happened two years later. Follow me if you are curious about the lessons I learned during my two years as a senior high student.
