I blew out candles, 9-years old,
The wax relighting itself, fire burning again,
And within the white light above the cake, I thought;
“halfway there”,
Halfway there to adulthood.
Halfway there to freedom.
Halfway there to life.
Or so I thought.
When I threw the cap on my graduation day,
11-years-old, into the 6th grade,
Amidst the flying caps and cheers of proud parents,
The clanging notes of the graduation theme,
and I thought;
“halfway there”,
Halfway there before I walked free from the school gates.
Halfway there before I never submitted homework again.
Halfway there before I entered the gates of college instead.
A picture I painted of hope and new starts.
Or so I thought.
Last year I sat through the orientation.
The entry into highschool,
Freshmen around me nervously tapping, as parents took notes.
“This is when it matters” they said,
“It all counts now”.
The last quarter,
4 years that would define it all,
48 months of childhood left.
And perhaps it was at this moment that the veil fell.
For what was it about being older?
that I had craved?
And as 9 years changed to 6 changed to 4,
My excitement dwindled,
Where the future once seemed bright and free,
It now seemed dark and uncertain.
A world of responsibility and loneliness,
Where I couldn’t be protected.
So close to the finish line, but running slower than ever.
A timer, ticking down the moments before
I was on my own.
And they all said to enjoy it,
To slow down, that I wouldn’t get it back,
but I didn’t believe them.
Because the future couldn’t come slower,
Yet years flew like birds of time.
Darting and dipping through the colours of life.
But when I finally land ,
I wonder why I ever wanted to be
Older.
