so this is what it feels like to be eighteen years of age. Not much of a difference from being seventeen, I would say. No revolutionary concepts that I suddenly had the capacity to understand because of my difference of age, no great epiphanies accompanying my "coming-of-age". No sudden apparent wisdom that makes the world look bleaker or brighter. I feel... the same, old and tired.
I know it frightens some people when I tell them I feel old, and ready to die. Funny how in my pursuit for lifelong child-likeness, and in my morbid fear of growing up and becoming one of them I have come to see so many faults and inevitable truths of the world that I have been stripped of naivete and innocence. I feel like I have seen the whole world, because the world, all across, is but the same. The same vicious cycle being propagated everywhere. Evil, corruption and suffering, it is found in every corner and it will continue to prevail as long as there is the sinful nature of Man. Nothing is ever new, every day and everything is but a different variation of the same, monotonous routine.
My week, or month, I should say, passed by in a blur of colours that pale and fade even as I am living it. I am but a lingering spirit of my own existence, a passive observer of my experiences, trying to conjure up meanings and feelings to put myself in my own shoes.
Thursday night, leading up to Friday and Saturday and even Sunday felt like a dream. I walked through it like a man in a dream, accepting everything because I was still hoping to wake up (cheesy matrix quote right there). It was just too mellow, too rose-tinted to be true. The yellow glow of the lone candle, the birthday wishes I cannot comprehend, the dinner, the movie, the dim stars, the world continues to turn, the night melts into the next morning and we run, we walk, we sleep, we eat, we take car trips, we visit places. And amidst all that chaos, the flashing lights, like the rolling of a movie tape, the warmth, the video, the nebulous collapse, I turned eighteen.
God loves me, and this I know because He provides many inns along my wearisome journey for me to find rest and pleasure. I am grateful to have good friends that make my monotony more bearable, more livable. And you are one of them, friend. You said that you're glad to have me as a friend. Because I make people happy. I hope you know that you brought me great joy too, and for that brief window of my life I was contented.
And now you have let go, and I finally have too. But now I have new friends. I hope too that all of you know you mean a lot to me, and I live my life to make a difference in yours.
It's sad how we must all live in the knowledge of the impending impermanence of everything. My inns will crumble down one by one, He does that to make sure I don't find a home in any of them. I never thought I would live to be eighteen years. I've always thought I would die, peacefully or tragically, and freeze in the permanence of being forever seventeen. But God would not have me that way. Even being eighteen will not be permanent. Three hundred and fifty eight more days to go. I pray that this year will be filled with shooting stars, with hope and child-like faith, with growth and wisdom, but most of all with never growing up.
Thursday night, leading up to Friday and Saturday and even Sunday felt like a dream. I walked through it like a man in a dream, accepting everything because I was still hoping to wake up (cheesy matrix quote right there). It was just too mellow, too rose-tinted to be true. The yellow glow of the lone candle, the birthday wishes I cannot comprehend, the dinner, the movie, the dim stars, the world continues to turn, the night melts into the next morning and we run, we walk, we sleep, we eat, we take car trips, we visit places. And amidst all that chaos, the flashing lights, like the rolling of a movie tape, the warmth, the video, the nebulous collapse, I turned eighteen.
God loves me, and this I know because He provides many inns along my wearisome journey for me to find rest and pleasure. I am grateful to have good friends that make my monotony more bearable, more livable. And you are one of them, friend. You said that you're glad to have me as a friend. Because I make people happy. I hope you know that you brought me great joy too, and for that brief window of my life I was contented.
And now you have let go, and I finally have too. But now I have new friends. I hope too that all of you know you mean a lot to me, and I live my life to make a difference in yours.
It's sad how we must all live in the knowledge of the impending impermanence of everything. My inns will crumble down one by one, He does that to make sure I don't find a home in any of them. I never thought I would live to be eighteen years. I've always thought I would die, peacefully or tragically, and freeze in the permanence of being forever seventeen. But God would not have me that way. Even being eighteen will not be permanent. Three hundred and fifty eight more days to go. I pray that this year will be filled with shooting stars, with hope and child-like faith, with growth and wisdom, but most of all with never growing up.
"Do not go gentle into that good night,
rage, rage against the dying of the light."
Take care, my friend.
Yours always,
Celine.
Take care, my friend.
Yours always,
Celine.
