I don't remember...

 

It's not like I have anything in particular to say but I just felt like writing.

As I am seated in our old chair in my balcony and raindrops gently hitting me and the pages of my notebook simultaneously, different thoughts are approaching in my mind and I can't help but listen to them. Like - when was the last time I danced in the rain recklessly in tiny my balcony, not worrying about what people would think? Or, when was the last time I came out in the night and glared at the starry sky talking to the moon?

I don't know. Must have been a long time ahead from now.

When I was younger, I always loved the idea of growing up and it, certainly, was because of the temptation of getting to do a few things that grown-ups do. Like going to places they like or earning a living by your own.

But, I'm finally starting to realize why grown-ups wish they were younger.

I can't remember the last time I wrote without thinking about what people will think of when they read it or the last time I read a book without the pressure of reviewing it to people.

I can't remember the last time I laughed without wondering what my laugh sounded like or the last time I thought my armpit's hair was totally normal. In fact, as a kid, I eagerly anticipated to see my armpit's hair grow.

I can't remember the last time I wore 'girly' (a term I learnt growing up) dress without being shy. I can't remember the last time I played basketball without expecting to make a perfect shot or the last time i debated without pressuring to win it.

I can't remember the last time I had written a thank you letter to my friends or wrote a journal just for the sake of keeping my streak alive. I can't remember the last time I did something to please my parents with my sole wish or the last time all my siblings gathered with intention.

I can't think of the last time I hugged my dad or the last time I took my sister's clothe with the same childish enthusiasm. I can't remember the time I went for watering my plant or the last time I kept grains for the sparrows or the last time, following my sister, I left some sugar because the ants might be hungry too.

I can't remember the last time we went to travel without having a group member nagging about it. Can't remember the last time I was happy sharing an umbrella or the last time I hugged a tree.

I can't remember the last time I spent a day without going virtual or the last time I slept in a park, with my arms spread, wide open.

Can't remember the last time I walked around yelling at the empty streets waiting for an echo to reply me. Or the last time I thought I would be sad when alone.

Can't remember the last time I woke up early with my own will or the last time I composed poems and the last time I ran around the streets or played games like "same-di" "ice and water", " key lock", "long dap", "lukamari". Can't remember the last time I climbed a tree or jumped from a roof to another.

Can't remember the last time I walked round and round mugging up my text for an exam or the last time I read a novel in silence with only the birds chirping.

Can't remember the last time I cooked for myself or went markets narrating my endless stories to my mother.

Can't remember the last time I sung a lullaby to my sister and made her sleep or the last time I massaged my dad's back.

Can't remember the last time I looked in the mirror and didn't question what beauty was or the last time I appreciated someone wholeheartedly without afterthoughts or the last time I helped someone without expecting some help in return.

I can't remember the last time I lived, fully present, in the moment.

Having something isn't same as the temptation of having it. Like a tweet I saw, pleasure isn't in having it but the temptation of having it.

Now that I'm finally seeing things from the perspective I had wished, for such a long time, I'm beginning to realize it's not fascinating at all. I'm growing up, but, do I really want to?

P.S. Of this, I am sure, I don't want to be just another messed up adult human life.