mardi, février 22, 2005
Vieillir par la seconde
Getting older by the second.
Age is a sensitive issue.
Well, it's not at first. When you're eighteen, man, you're eighteen and proud of it. I'm not some kid anymore, damn it. Treat me like the man/woman I am! Where's my car, Daddy-O?
Cute. But then as you grow older, that big number suddenly turns from blessing to curse and you're ashamed to tell people how old you really are. It's like a brand of shame to be old.
I know. Because I'm no longer eighteen myself.
Today is my roommate's birthday. In almost exactly five more months, July 23, I will celebrate my birthday too and, like him, officially turn 20. It doesn't help that we're surrounded by 17, 18 and 19 year olds who think it's a fantastic opportunity to jest about our unique status of 'decrepit old geezers.'
It's funny. When I was still 19, not two months ago, I hadn't really stopped thinking of myself as a teenager. My living nineteen years already just hadn't sunk in yet. Not two months ago, I still hung on to the irresponsibility of youth, to the simple lusts and greeds that define the teenage experience, and told myself "I am young and reckless."
Then 19 turned 20. As we transitioned from celebrating New Year's Eve to partying a Happy New Year, my roommate and I looked at each other and went, "Damn, we're old."
Thinking of the 20 I now write whenever I'm asked for my age, I wonder what happened to all those years. Nineteen years is a long time. Hell, a year is supposed to be long enough. That couldn't possibly have been nineteen goddamned years. Nineteen months, yes, but... years?
No. No.
Fantastic. When you're 20 years old you start to think crazy stuff. I mean, seriously think. Like about a career. Your future. Life. And then you catch yourself doing this and you go, "Damn this! It ain't over yet. I'm still a teenager!"
What denial. Applause for the melodramatic moment, please.
The irresponsiblity of youth is slipping like so much sand between my fingers. It magically does. You can't stop it. Ever looked at adults and wonder what's the big fuss about the inner childs and all that? Why can't they just take a joke?
Here's telling you, punk: the magic is failing and yours will fail too. The child in you is retreating from the ravages of these things we call "experience" and "responsibilities." It's going into hiding.
That's why we must hold on to it. Experience and responsibilities jade us, yes, but we need to struggle to retain that child's wonder and teenager's irresponsibility for us to continue enjoying life. People always say life was best when they were still children or teenagers. So why let it die and turn into an old crank?
Unless you want to be an old crank. Then I've got nothing to say to you but the best of luck with the wrinkles. Because I'm not getting any. Really.
I'm not.
Please?
Commentaires: 1
Age is a sensitive issue.
Well, it's not at first. When you're eighteen, man, you're eighteen and proud of it. I'm not some kid anymore, damn it. Treat me like the man/woman I am! Where's my car, Daddy-O?
Cute. But then as you grow older, that big number suddenly turns from blessing to curse and you're ashamed to tell people how old you really are. It's like a brand of shame to be old.
I know. Because I'm no longer eighteen myself.
Today is my roommate's birthday. In almost exactly five more months, July 23, I will celebrate my birthday too and, like him, officially turn 20. It doesn't help that we're surrounded by 17, 18 and 19 year olds who think it's a fantastic opportunity to jest about our unique status of 'decrepit old geezers.'
It's funny. When I was still 19, not two months ago, I hadn't really stopped thinking of myself as a teenager. My living nineteen years already just hadn't sunk in yet. Not two months ago, I still hung on to the irresponsibility of youth, to the simple lusts and greeds that define the teenage experience, and told myself "I am young and reckless."
Then 19 turned 20. As we transitioned from celebrating New Year's Eve to partying a Happy New Year, my roommate and I looked at each other and went, "Damn, we're old."
Thinking of the 20 I now write whenever I'm asked for my age, I wonder what happened to all those years. Nineteen years is a long time. Hell, a year is supposed to be long enough. That couldn't possibly have been nineteen goddamned years. Nineteen months, yes, but... years?
No. No.
Fantastic. When you're 20 years old you start to think crazy stuff. I mean, seriously think. Like about a career. Your future. Life. And then you catch yourself doing this and you go, "Damn this! It ain't over yet. I'm still a teenager!"
What denial. Applause for the melodramatic moment, please.
The irresponsiblity of youth is slipping like so much sand between my fingers. It magically does. You can't stop it. Ever looked at adults and wonder what's the big fuss about the inner childs and all that? Why can't they just take a joke?
Here's telling you, punk: the magic is failing and yours will fail too. The child in you is retreating from the ravages of these things we call "experience" and "responsibilities." It's going into hiding.
That's why we must hold on to it. Experience and responsibilities jade us, yes, but we need to struggle to retain that child's wonder and teenager's irresponsibility for us to continue enjoying life. People always say life was best when they were still children or teenagers. So why let it die and turn into an old crank?
Unless you want to be an old crank. Then I've got nothing to say to you but the best of luck with the wrinkles. Because I'm not getting any. Really.
I'm not.
Please?
Commentaires: 1
1 Comments:
Kenny, @
9:34 PM, avril 13, 2005
He's right~ World is not longer peace now~ monkey is swimming, penguin is flying, dinosaur running around, alien invading my hse, katak walking on the earth~!!! Worst among all, cockcroach does bite people n this is what happen to my hsemate, poor irene~ haha~ Keep it up~!!!
