Thursday, October 11, 2012


Sometimes I feel as if I haven't grown up yet.

The feeling that some random day I'll wake up in the morning only to find myself back in my parent's home; my dog Hans standing at the side of my bed nuzzling me to wake up.

And my grandmother would not yet have died.

The distance between my sister and I would not yet have grown.

I would not have to worry about keeping a job yet; in fact, I would not yet have graduated.

God's presence would be so close to me, and I would feel weightless, like I needn't worry about my life before me.

My heart would not yet have been broken, and I would not care for a boyfriend yet, because life was often fine without one.

People I know from childhood would not have left for other places on the pretext of seeking better things.

Friends would not have migrated yet, and would still meet with me and speak to me often.

I would find solace in poems and music, and feel no guilt, no regrets. And I could still journal, and pretend my life somehow made sense.

And then I'll wonder what it would be like to be an adult, and then reawaken to the realisation that I already am one.