I look at all my writings, my stories, my realities. There have been many. Beautifully sad, beautifully awesome, occurring at the same time even. And at this hour, with a beer, good old Oasis and a cigarette at hand, one could realize only so many, too.

You realize that you were not what and who you were 5 years ago. Before I met Jigs I used to have this credo that we are who we are, people NEVER change. It’s useless to fight it off. But people age too, and you soon know, everything in the world does change, including you. The language, the way you perceived the world, how miraculously one can be transformed from an angsty teenaged kid to an old woman in a matter of years. 



Five years ago I believed that even at 31 I will struggle to go to school to re-learn the arts. And that I will reach that age too satisfying my mother’s wants – all of it – and get away from it cuff-free. But five years later you learn that those were whimsical, purely imaginative – maybe even disillusioned – thoughts. You become more realistic when coming into terms with just about anything. You will revel, you will fight for what is right. It is a matter of survival. All else remains irrelevant.

You realize too that as you age, you lose bit by bit, some creativity and the ability to invent. I will take Incubus as an example. You compare Pardon Me with every radio-friendly song they penned last year, and you find out that the music is not the same anymore. It lacks the usual brilliance and luster that their older songs had when they were younger. I suppose because we achieve a sort of permanence, some contentment with simpler things. We simply grow out of our niche as a child. It’s not a choice, it’s an inevitable fact of adulthood. You can’t shake it off.

You realize you only thought you already knew everything because you have experienced everything. You have been in the the largest of holes, the darkest of places, the most painful of circumstance. Five years ago people would have told you, this is not yet it, you have a long way to go. Marriage is a lot more complicated than you imagine it to be. And you said, yeah, yeah, I know. I know. Because I come from dysfunction and I’ve been through a lot since birth than you have for forty years. But everything is merely a subjective word. Naive you weren’t, but prepared, maybe less. 


Because everything was not actually everything. All things become harder, more complicated at twenty-five, twenty-six. Opportunities are narrower as the big words – obligation, sacrifice, commitment, choice – become more defined. And assuming I don’t suddenly die by accident, I’m not even halfway down the road.

And you see, I’m only 26 at this point. I do have a long way to go. And I will meet more changes, more crosses. This is not yet all of it. I’m not being pensive again. Just realistic, for real, this time.

But you know, the greatest thing you could also realize is, perseverance is a perennially undermined word. It’s something we just say yet don’t mean and exercise less than we think we do. It’s a necessity in aging. I’m far from being a master at it, but I am learning. And I tell you, it’s one of the most vital armors you could bring along with you. It’s nearly an impossible objective to achieve at all times, but it would be good to always remember it. Because truth is, it can be stretched tenfolds if you want it to. It’s the only way you could sleep through a night of sudden realizations.
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