So apparently this is the end of my childhood. The childhood’s not been too shabby. I’ve learned a couple of things, such as not to piss oneself and take further maths A-level when one can.
As everyone knows, it’s hard to be aware and keep track of your development through life, and after some years you look back on yourself as a different person. I love the nostalgia of old photos, and would’ve liked more videos. I’m working on that.
My mind has changed a lot in these eighteen years, obviously, and for some time now I would say that I think the same way as an adult, and I’m (believe it or not) as mature as one. I just lack the years of experience that separate the adult from this man-child. However, similar thoughts have happened before, and every time I look back I really don’t see myself as grown up then. To be fair, I don’t think I’ll ever resist sprinting to empty swings in a park, no matter how ‘grown up’ I become in the coming decades.
The whole ‘being seventeen’ package isn’t brilliant, I must say. Real men and women don’t treat you as a kid, sure, but the pubs do. It’s been a nagging problem that I get treated like my five year old self in the house of beverages because my mother didn’t shoot me out a week earlier. Voting is a similar game, I’m sure I’m at the intelligence to make the logical decision of which prick to grant some power to, as well with many of my seventeen year old peers, but perhaps these are just petty things I have to deal with in exchange for less responsibility. However, it’s really nice that trains, cinemas and ice rinks think I’m a big boy and give me a big boy price.
So there’s my 18 years of childhood, I wonder how these 68 years of adulthood will treat me (the malnutrition university holds might have other plans).
I’ve written this quasi-philosophical post as I go along, just to have the smallest memory of my mindset at this age when I read it a little later. I don’t care if it doesn’t flow. I’m just one who focuses on dates and numbers more than I should.
I need a drink…