As I sit in my childhood room, listening to the Shins and the sounds of my mother in the kitchen chopping veggies and rustling with pots, that I suddenly feel like I am 16 again. My closet still full of things I used to wear, my bookshelf stacked with banned books and memorabilia from a lifetime passed, with markings of my childhood slowly withering away with each glance. Momentary and fleeting. I can’t help but wonder how so much has changed in such a short period. It wasn’t long ago when I would lock myself in this same room, listening to the Shins and typing away on my laptop, circa 2002.
There were many dilemmas back then, yes, superficial problems. First world issues, some would say. God, yes. Being 15 and ignorant, trying to feel something, exploring my sexuality, going through emotional phases and wondering just whatthehell I wanted out of my mundane existence. Reading back my childhood diary, my first real goal I made when I was 13 was togetthefuckout as soon as I could, far away as I can, away from the miseries of adolescence and growing up and teenage angst. Going far away seemed like a good idea, to explore the world, to see things that are meant to be interpreted for yourself. The idea of facing the world head-on and living day to day as if impatience was a virtue was sublime. Golden. It all seemed fairytale-like, unattainable even, growing up in a caged suburban community with fenced in walls and a bubble so small it could suck you in more when you tried to leave.
That was then.
For now, I am appreciating the moments before heading to the airport and catching my flight back to my current life. One that I can say has been a success of victories. My once unattainable dream not so unattainable anymore. I did it. With the good, with the bad, it is a history I can look back on and know how it became to be. How it was, who I am today and the uncertainty that lies ahead.
