Friday, 23 January 2015

Dear Diary: Still a girl

The new academic semester has just kicked in, and regrettably I haven't had the liberty of time to properly pen any of my thoughts down, coherently or otherwise. It has yet to be a month into the year and already, something extraordinary has transpired and cemented itself to the cognitive realm of my mind --the concept of growing up.

It's outlandish, foreign... yet curiously familiar. 

Because this is it. This is the moment I've been waiting for years and years, very possibly my entire life. Twenty, no longer a teenager. 

It may be acquiring more poise, greater confidence. Or speaking with considerable ease and clarity when holding conversations with grown professionals, instead of single-handedly constructing a situation that (lamentably) nearly always results in my ultimate mortification. Perhaps it could even be a radical shift in interests, from indulgence of casual jazz to the appreciation of more "palatable" music and fine art. I keep waiting for that something to happen... the feeling of "adulthood", being a grown woman. A lady, as I should rightly aspire to be.

Because everyone has to grow up, do they not? And so I wait ever patiently, for some sort of transformation. Anything, really.

But there's nothing. 

Not-that-deep-down inside, I'm still that excitable, inquisitive girl of eleven, her hair in pigtails, complete with ancient granny clothes and wide, round spectacles. More often socially awkward than not, rough and unpolished, always laughing a little too loud and talking a little too much (often at the most unfortunate timings). Till this day, I largely dislike holding conversations with "adults", in particular with intellectuals or professionals, though I've acquired a fair set of skills in dealing with such instances. 

I wait. 

And wait.

And as I wait, I wonder if I have got it all wrong. Perhaps some people never do grow up.

I can dress like a lady, speak like a lady, dine like a lady, and deceive the eyes of all who behold me.

But I am not a lady.

And I don't want to be one, not right now. I want to throw my head back and laugh as much as I can, and whenever I want, for the rarity that it already is. I want to talk to the people who make me smile, without having to deal with concomitant consequences that will ensue. I want to tear down the latent hierarchical barriers between the professors and students in university, and discuss abstract concepts and theorisations with them in as jocund a manner as I would a companion. I'd choose paddle pops and crackers over fine dining any day, or a day at the zoo over an elaborate opera show. 

And it is markedly perceptible to me now, that there is no wait. 

I'm still a girl.


  1. Perhaps the reasoning behind exchanging 'crackers' for 'fine dining' should be applied too to your style of writing. Your over elaborations and attempts to portray yourself as a fine weaver of words can come across as pretentious and even insincere. Fine writers - like Sebastian Faulks - know when to apply flourish and when to keep things simple because, what good are layers of intricacies when they ultimately mask your point? Make no mistake, your command of language is excellent but when it comes to good writing, it's the application of language - not just command of it - that really counts.

    1. Thank you for your comment, I will keep that in mind. Constructive feedback is always appreciated, although this was somewhat intended as a space for personal muse (was not expecting any readers). Thanks for popping by nonetheless (:


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