Drifting in the Space of Ramblings

Ramblings About Growth

I've always been the smart kid in class. The weirdo that nobody invited to parties, but the first one they sought out to cheat on exams. Ended up becoming an astronaut, and I always thought it would make people see me differently, but now I see it doesn't matter if I were a bus driver. We're all in the same boat, tiny beings thinking we're important in a vast universe that barely notices our presence.

Growing up was definitely the hardest thing for me, but it must be the hardest thing for any thinking being anywhere in the universe. Growing up means we have to figure out who we really are, what we want, what we think, what makes us smile and what makes us cry, what we should keep inside and what we should express no matter who we hurt. Growing up is hard. Our parents and family environments often hinder more than help, as they want us to be like them or better. They want us to inherit their customs and quirks solely because we share a tiny bit of DNA.

Today my parents are proud of me.

"And here's a picture of him in his spacesuit," my father says to everyone who visits their home.

"But nobody was proud of me on the way to get here. Nobody cared."

What no one understands is that I'm not better than anyone else; going back to the bus driver topic, many will live much longer than me, many will touch more human lives than me, many will be much more significant to their individual stories than me. So what's the big difference?

The big problem with people is that they don't know how to grow up. Growing up isn't easy, but I've said that already.

I wouldn't want to go back to the past. Some people when they're on their deathbed must think about correcting something, changing something, or doing something different, but just thinking about growing up again, I'd rather leave things as they are.

I was excessively shy when I was thirteen; any girl made me sweat and stutter at the same time. I felt tiny, different from the way I feel now contemplating the infinite, in a much worse way. I felt tiny and horrible. An abomination. An insectoid monster that feeds on human juice. "Run!" - people think when they look at me - "Flee!".

I don't know why I felt that way...

Actually, I do...

Insecurity.

Some people would like never to have grown up, and indeed, some never do. I envy them. But why would someone like me, who apparently has a good job, a nice house, and a stable life (You don't have any of that anymore) envy those people who never grow up?

Because growing up is hard, but I think I've said that already.