I look at the sky; pitch dark, not a single star twinkling, not a single star shooting across that infinite blank black canvas, it’s only clouds and wind. Nothing tingles me at this point of time, not that it is absolute dark outside, not that there’s no star I could connect with, not that the continuous gusts of cold wind are freezing me in this open, wide balcony, nothing but the feeling of having grown, of turning into an adult, of not being a kid anymore, of leading a life not just living one.
On contemplation and sheer urge of curiosity, when I turn back and look at that little me, wonderment strikes me. It strikes me with a seemingly real feeling. The surreal moment of realization that I’ve grown up asks me to accept the reality, it asks me to believe in it, to have faith in it, and so, I do so. I do so because I want to, not because I should. That little me would have wanted me to trust the grown me. Not because both are same, but because it knew that little ones go with their innocent instincts, which, if not always right, are, at least, almost never wrong.
Wasn’t it just yesterday that I was staring at that TV screen and enjoying those talking machines and animals shows? And today it is a show about society’s hypocrisy and its darker side. Wasn’t it just yesterday that I was pretending to make tea and rice and other dishes in that artificial kitchen-set? And today it is the same tea and rice and other dishes, but in real vessels in a real kitchen. Wasn’t it just yesterday that I forced my little brother to be my dance partner? And today I dance with someone who is my age, whom I do not force. Wasn’t it just yesterday? And yesterday. And yesterday. It wasn’t, I know it in my bones, yet it seems that it was all in yesterday, that this- becoming an adult- has happened overnight, from yesternight to today.
Far somewhere in the outskirts of the city, waves are hitting the shore, and a little kid is trying to chase those waves away. He chases them away like the bravest that he is, the kindest, and the purest. He runs behind the waves when they try to crumble his tiny fort. He fails, for waves are mightier; he cries and suffers seeing his fort’s ruin. But he stands again, dusts himself up, goes to those waves and gives them a look, a long glare, a glare that says, ‘I’m up again. This time I won’t let you destroy it.’ His fort is up again, and the mighty waves run over it, again. There are ruins, again. There are tears, again. There is suffering, again. But, there is courage too, again. There is hope too, again.
One day, when he grows up and stand in his house’s balcony, he will wonder too. He will wonder about the courage he had as a kid, the hopes he had as a kid. ‘Where did it all go?’, he’ll wonder. Wasn’t it just yesterday that he was a kid, that he was braver, that he was different, that he was just not the same.
This grown-up feeling is weird. It makes one feel stronger, yet weaker. It makes one feel wiser, yet silly. It makes one feel independent, yet dependent. Above everything, it makes one learn fake it, and pretend it. Faking a smile, faking a body, faking kindness, faking courage, faking this and faking that. But, it also makes one learn to value it all, all the time, to value people, things, places, and the time. The time- mightiest of all. After few losses of dear ones, a grown-up learns to value it, to cherish it until one has it.
Now, there is some whiter shade in the black canvas. A star has come out. Another one is peeking too. And so is the other one, and the ones around it. Wind has calmed down. That kid has gone home too, relishing the thought that waves have gotten scared of a courageous him. I must get going too. There are chores to be done tomorrow.
IF YOU ARE A FIRST- TIME VISITOR OF MY BLOG, DO REFER ‘First-Timers‘. IT WOULD HELP YOU IN EXPLORING THE PLACE.
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