Maybe they are right, it’s an arbitrary measure of how long you have lived chronologically. But only if life could be lived in the simple timelines that come ahead. Some days I am 10 years behind, like a kid that I always am. Some days I function like an adult, apt for the time. Some other days I am a toddler, whose insatiable demands leave me heart broken. Some other days I am a philosopher trying her tiny hands at solving problems that may appear 10 years from now.
It does seem age is just a number. Like a river that splits into tributaries that visits different landscapes as it journeys through time, twisted and turned. A part of me lies in the pristine mountains, some other submerged in the waters of the South. Perhaps it would be best to let the streams unwind on their own and be washed into the sea.
No number could ever justify the depth that we have seen amalgamated into one.
Growing Up – a series on well, growing up. Every Saturday because Saturdays are perfect for overthinking.
I’ve always thought of bubble baths as a metaphor for sauntering around, to have the short time in betweens for day dreaming. The bubbles dispersing into the air, the smell of shampoo, but more importantly, the time at hand. These bubble bath moments include anything from saving the world as the next Wonder Woman to being strangely excited about buying a nonexistent pair of shoes.
The older I get, I find myself scrambling for these bubble baths, overwhelmed by the amount over the plate that is to be done. At times bubble baths mean cutting down on some other priority.
Less of bubble baths mostly means waking up from dreams into reality, the bittersweet realization that day dreaming cannot solve half my problems.
Or maybe, they could?
Second week of writing a snippet on Growing Up. Saturdays are perfect for overthinking, lamenting and having some more hot chocolate or litchi juice.