Yesterday, on my morning jog, I saw a cow with a bent horn. It was as if the horn had been pulled down like a lever but never pushed back up. As I was wondering if an injury caused that or if it was a defect the cow carried from birth, I realised that the cow was now walking right next to me. Given that its horns were big enough to pierce my body in two, I increased my pace to try and leave the cow behind. But, as soon as my feet started moving faster, the cow raised its speed too. I tried to go even faster but the cow continued to match my pace. This went on for a few minutes until fatigue got the better of me and I stopped and caught my breath on the footpath. I was half-afraid that the cow would stop too, but fortunately, it finally left my side. I kept thinking about that strange incident as I walked back home. It wasn’t until I was almost home that I realised that what had happened was just like growing up. If you try to leave it behind, it runs even faster, and if you just stop and give up, it leaves you behind.
All of this pessimism was of course brought on by the fact that I of turned eighteen recently. Just the thought of it feels as if my heart was squeezing out the last seventeen years into my veins. Eighteen seems so big, so overpowering.
KThe past year passed in a daze of online classes and waiting for the results of an exam I didn’t even have the opportunity to give. One day blurred into another like a not very smooth movie scene transition. It’s as if I have to drag my memories of the past year in the wheelbarrow of time like an old pet nearing death. This has made me understand that my life is a clay sculpture that can be forced to be moulded into whatever the world wants it to be, and now that I have turned eighteen I will be the one responsible for it. I have shed the skin of a child and worn that of an adult.
By definition, an adult is a person who is fully grown. Isn’t it unfair to just fix an universal age for everyone to be fully grown. What if I don’t want to be an adult when I turn 18, what if I want to stay a kid a little bit longer? What if my body just grew up faster than my heart?
It isn’t the freedom that comes with being 18 that I fear, I fear the responsibility which tails that freedom. I fear that I will make wrong decisions and then waste my time regretting them, or even worse, make no decisions at all. I fear that the life will make me realise that I am just a little girl who forgot to grow up. But then I see Ma teaching me how to make poha—don’t soak it too long, don’t put in more than 1 tablespoon of salt unless you want high BP, roast the peanuts until they are golden brown; I see my dad teaching me how to iron clothes—don’t keep it in one place for too long, if a cloth is too sensitive, place another piece of cloth over it and never, never, leave the iron on; I see my brother telling me which app to use to find my phone if it gets lost and how people in college hostels are beasts and will rob you blind if you are not on your guard (this was clearly an exaggeration…right?).
I see all of this and realise, I might just be able to bear the weight of responsibility because I have a wonderful family to help me carry it.
A cauldron of emotions 