Banter

I don't want to grow up. I don't want to get caught up in the rat race, the convoluted dog-eat-dog world that already frightens me. However "Cool" it may be to look sixteen, talk twenty and think ninety-five, I'm fine with the way I am right now. I don't want the clock to tick its way into tomorrow. Tomorrow will be another day that will disappear no sooner than it came, another day that will take me one step closer to the much-awaited, yet dreaded, age of eighteen. Adulthood.

I want to be old enough to hug my mum in a supermarket and get away with it for as long as I live. I want to be able to tell my dad I love him in school and not have all the other kids sneer at me. The only time I was ever allowed to do that was when I was three and all the other kids didn't mind because they were into the whole Mommy-I-love-you-can-I-rub-my-snot-on-you-now? affair themselves. I hate having to care about what everybody thinks of my every movement, the way I carry myself, what I eat and how I dress. I wish my friends didn't care much either. I wish, that for one day, I could just go to school without having to worry whether my hair is sitting just right, whether the ends are curling out a little too much. How does it matter, anyway? Why is it that we're so bothered by such mundane things? And that one day cannot pass without our being completely absorbed by someone else's life story? I hate being a teenager. I don't quite know what I want or expect from people, from life... I'm far too confused for my own liking. I don't know what this post was for. I don't know.