I changed my wordpress theme! I like it – It’s whimsical and childish, myself summed up in two adjectives.
I still don’t believe I’m 19 and turning 20 next year. Twenty, how it rests heavy and foreign in my mouth like something taboo. In Japan, turning twenty is a rite of passage, your induction into the world of being an adult. No, no, no. Being twenty feels like everything I’ve loved has to change – fashion sense, style, mannerisms, thoughts. Life. I can’t be the girl carrying a backpack of bears, I can’t be the girl with the butterfly print dress, I can’t flounce around in my hot pink flatforms. I can’t laugh and imagine the world as I did when I was eight, I can’t buy myself strawberry milk and enjoy it without mentally working out how the financial budget for the week has changed.
I will be twenty and I will have done nothing significant with my life. My classmate, at 20, is married with a child. An adorable boy, and he’s working to put himself through university. At 19, I am single, loveless, passionless and aimlessly drifting through life and dreaming it away.
I am nineteen and haven’t been kissed, haven’t had my breath taken away; nineteen and listless, dreaming of lying on the soft grass and holding hands, waking up to texts and feeling special; knowing that there really is someone out there for me.
I am nineteen and socially awkward, never learnt how to make new friends with ease, always finding the corner of the room; nose buried in her phone and scrolling past post after post, tweet after tweet; silently screaming to be acknowledged. I feel out of place in school, like a skittle that strayed into an M&M packet.
I try to be ironic. I dress in how I think I should dress in order to be judged and underestimated, I act as if I don’t care about school, or grades. But I want to be recognized; yet don’t want to shamelessly flaunt achievements.
I have forgotten how to be “deligious”, I am losing my grasp of this language I type and speak in. “Deligious” does not exist as a word, it is deligent I was l looking for and even then, it’s supposed to be diligent. Learning another language has thrown things into chaos, and I fear I may one day lose the third (no, fourth, somewhat) ‘sub language’ I cherish for it’s instant identity, how it screams “I AM SINGAPOREAN!”. I am unable to instantly code switch, the lahs, lehs and wah laos don’t flow as they should.
Life confuses me. Some days I struggle to stay afloat, some days I wonder what I am doing in this ocean, who am I in this Ocean that is the world, and how insignificant this tiny speck of plankton is.
I wish I am the whale that everyone admires and wishes to glimpse upon; to be granted the honor of witnessing my presence.