365 suns have drifted by my face.
362 times I have woken up.
170 days filled of eraser shavings, ink and lectures.
14 days of exams.
6 courses I’ve taken.
2 years spent.
1 result awaiting.
And not much has changed.

Went out for dinner, like every other year. Invited the same family, as they are probably the closest friends my mother/father have in Canada. Maybe in the world, I’m not sure.

Same restaurant again, we’ve came to this one for all of our meetings for maybe 2 years now.

2 years ago wasn’t even that long ago.

But then again, when I try to remember the events last year, it feels like the distant past.

The past is a different country, they do things differently there.

I don’t remember where that quote is from, sorry for the plagiarism, Dr. G.

I’m eligible to vote now, quite hard to believe.

What is it about living longer that gives me the privilege to determine the controlling party for the next 4 years?

I don’t see myself as mature.

Nor confident.

Nor independent.

If I didn’t know better, I would have say I have digressed in maturity over these last 5 years.

Maybe I’ve pulled a Yuchen.

Only without the grades.

 

Today in Chemistry, Sharon asked me if I felt old.

I  didn’t. I really, honestly did not feel old.

She did.

Maybe it’s because she has younger siblings, other people she compares herself with.

Even though a lot of people I know dislike their siblings, I do think having a sibling is a beneficial thing, for both parties.

It’s one of the few things you can’t experience later in life.

 

It only really dinged to me how old I had become when I listened onto Yvonne and her friend’s conversation (god, I don’t know her english name…).

I’ve know Yvonne since she was 4. Time sure flies by.

She used to be so cute! Brave, creative and confident.

I haven’t seen the same cheer or smile in her in a while now.

Is that what aging does to you?

My grandparents frequently tell me about when I was small.

I was brave, creative and confident.

To some degree I think it is because they don’t see how the younger me became the present me.

To some degree I think I agree.

But I digress.

I heard them talking about Fairy Tail. The anime.

Damn.

Maybe it was because they’re grade 6, and it reminded me of myself.

Maybe it was because it has been so long since I’ve watched an anime.

Maybe it has just become the time.

 

I’ve seen this girl grow up, you know.

From 4 to 12, it’s been quite some time.

When she was small, she was very outward in her expressions.

Now, not so much.

She used to easily converse her thoughts, feelings and wishes to others, regardless of age or familiarity.

Now, not so much.

I’m actually quite sad over her.

I’m not sure.

It was fun playing with them.

Whether be it under the table, running across the house or finding my misplaced objects after they had left.

It was enjoyable. Refreshing, I could say.

I felt a sense of youth I no longer had myself.

I don’t have that kind of elation anymore, not from them.

They both sit and play with their iPads covered in a pink case.

Sticky pieces of dirt can be seen on the case, remnants of hello kitty stickers that were once present.

Remnants of another time.

She can’t even say goodbye to me without feeling incredibly nervous or embarrassed.

It’s kind of heartbreaking.

To see the child and all your cherished times with them disappear as they age.

Events of yesterday become events of a parallel universe, they have happened, but not for you.

When they used to play Pokemon, or the nerf guns, or even my damned clothes.

It was fun.

But now I don’t have that anymore. I only have memories to cherish.

But memories don’t last forever. That’s a given.

It almost makes me cry to think that some day these memories will be gone, wiped, clear.

And these events will have vanished from the existence of the Earth, as the last person who remembered, forgot.

And all these emotions, would have been a waste.

It makes life feel so pointless.

 

I can’t imagine how this must feel for parents.

They have a deeper attachment with their children than anyone else.

I wonder how my parents feel.

Or my grandparents.

I can’t even fathom the thoughts that run through my grandparents head.

Not only have I’ve substantially changed in character, but I’m assimilated into another culture as well.

No longer can they try to predict my actions, but they cannot predict my thoughts either.

Aging, it’s a terrible thing.

Is it fine to shed tears when you grow older? I’ve only seen my father cry twice, once over his mother’s death, and once over an argument last year.

But I see children cry often. Younger, older, we all cry at some point.

The numbers decrease as age increases.

What makes it so that older people cry less?

Tougher skin?

Less optimistic view of the world?

I’ve noticed it in myself too.

While the number is still relatively high (I think), they’ve still decreased.

But is crying a bad thing?

I don’t know.

I do know my age group sees crying as a negative thing, but…

I can’t help but want to know what other emotion I would feel now as I think about these things.

Cry Me a River

Maybe I will.

But first I have to dry my face.

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