I don't feel any different. That's kind of how I feel every May 1st. Exactly the same. Except for my second or third birthday, which was when I finally understood what was actually going on. Other than that, I'm always overwhelmed with the sense of uniformity the first of May always brings about.
This birthday is the birthday I've wanted since sixth grade, probably. I've always wanted to be about ten years older than I really am. My age is always something I've tried to escape. Maybe it's because a part of me has always been running ahead of where I chronologically am. In my mind, eighteen was always that magic age when I'll finally have arrived. For the entirety of my adolescent years, I've imagined midnight on May 1st, 2009 to be filled with...well, with something.
Somewhere, my childhood escaped me. But, it's not like I woke up one morning (or stayed awake one morning) and realized that I wasn't a kid anymore. It's a process. How's that for the obvious observation of the month?
Growing up is in the present tense for a reason; it's always happening.
Speaking of presents, I'm older. For my birthday, I would like my childhood back.
It's not that I'm not excited about getting older and all the new experiences that entails. I'm really excited about my life. Childhood is just one of those things that doesn't come back. Not even for a long weekend.
A part of me wishes I could be digging in the sandbox, instead of digging for information in the utterly helpless library at school. I'd rather be able to go to the park and just swing, instead of going to work and having to deal with people angry about the amount of whipped cream I put on their hot fudge sundae. I'd give almost anything to be able to play in the awesome fantasy world my best friend and I created in first grade, instead of playing with reality.
Maybe my exposure to reality is what gave my growing up such a jump-start. When I look at people who are eleven or twelve right now, I'm always struck by just how childish they really are. The things they do and talk about are anything but similar to what was on my mind at eleven and twelve.
When I was eleven, I was trying to figure out what the meaning of life is. No joke. It kept me tearfully awake just about every single night. I also got my braces taken off that year. When I turned twelve, it got more intense. The search for life's meaning, that is. I remember being struck my own emptiness almost daily throughout most of seventh grade. I was still immature, but it was the kind of immaturity that almost realized its own existence. My immaturity contributed to my emptiness. It didn't make sense how one part of me could be dealing with such weighty things, and another part could just want to do dumb things like playing in the mud. It was too late to go back to the mud, though. My childhood had already mostly flown by.
And now I'm here. I'm still struck by my own immaturity at times, although I like to think of myself as mature on the whole. I'm still aware of emptiness from time to time, although it's mostly that of those around me. I'm still searching for my life's exact meaning, although I do have a firm grip on its general meaning. I still have my braces off, although I do wear a retainer every night. So, in a way, I guess I still am the same person.
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