Staring still into the sapphire sky, blank was my state of mind as I failed to notice the beautiful art works made on the sky by the cloud streak; wondering if growing up was a trap or we made a trap out of it. Now growing has deprived us of our innocence and naivety, fun in its genuine sense, in return with this shell that won’t let us be and hope I won’t get lost in this nostalgia.
I remember when I could run around tirelessly with my shirts off and maybe a knicker hanging on my waist oblivious of anyone around, I remember when shouting till I lost my voice was the peak of having fun and the elation that engulfed me whenever my father just arrived from work (or when I get a new gift) or a journey as I leapt up with joy and ran to jump at him in competition with my siblings just to be the first to grab his shoulders as I held on tight like I wouldn’t let him go.
I could play with the girls and run around, we could jump on one another and then the sudden withdrawal from the girls and they become difficult to jump at and the death of our favourite game ‘police and thief’ this just before awareness of the swellings on their chest the semi curves on sides of their skirt and maybe a little bumpy bulge trying to force its way out behind their skirts. Then after we resolved to only talks and we played no more.
Until the rule of law set in- perhaps conjure up by some hypocrites deprived of a blissful childhood like mine. Adults don’t shout, adults don’t run, matured people don’t talk too much, men don’t show emotions, big boys don’t cry…then these laws has come to stay and becomes the shell that won’t let us be, then I could only take a bow whenever my father arrived from wherever even though the child in me still wishes to unleash but now, the shell is stronger than me.
Just before I learnt not to give all in love and reserve some and learnt real men don’t show affection, men don’t watch cartoons and love stories but solely actions and thrillers. Just before I could love carelessly and write a million love letters and poetry which were buried at the birth of text messages and text messages died as soon as social chat apps arrived. Before love became so complex, almost a quest for ultimate search.
This is the incipience of the disintegration of innocence and naivety, you can only let out a little scream when hurt or don’t shout at all to show your level of maturity, don’t talk too much, have limits to everything, love carefully so you won’t get hurt, don’t talk when you are in church. TRAP!
Now I’ve learnt to put up a smile even when it hurts, and smile when I should laugh hysterically, keep quiet and listen when I should break the silence, funny how growing up has made us all actors. But I have learnt to break the rules sometimes, I still unleash the child in me and it feels so good just afterand hope I won’t get caught someday. Shhhh! Tell no one.