Birthday Cake, Tea and Sympathy

Now that I've moved, I pretty much have a few new things in my life — new keys, a new address, new bedsheets, new(ish) furniture, new neighbors and a new commute. Riding the train is now included in my daily routine and is admittedly growing on me. I've forgotten how much I like trains. It allows me twenty minutes twice a day to be one with my thoughts and not have to worry about keeping anyone entertained. With my music blaring in my ears thereby shutting off the rest of the world, I find the ultimate peace and enlightenment.

It's like being alone amid a thousand people surrounding you.

At promptly six thirty-five in the morning, I make my way towards the nearest train station to catch the six forty-three ride to the central business district. I count exactly seven stops and estimate about four songs on my iPod before I get there. Luck is never usually on my side when it comes to finding a seat. The train is always filled with students heading to their respective schools — college students with their textbooks in tow, female Muslim students with their white uniformed veils perched on their heads and the male ones with their black velvet hats, and Chinese students with their squeaky clean white sneakers.

It wasn't too long ago that I was one of those students. Well, except for the train bit, I never had to take it back where I grew up since there really wasn't any. I used to take the school bus at what seemed like the crack of dawn as the bus service always attempts to beat morning traffic. It was only later on that my parents took pity on me and had me driven to school instead (bless them!).

It only seemed like yesterday that I was roaming the high school hallways with my friends and beating deadlines for book reports and science investigatory projects. And then having powows with the group in the school cafeteria during lunch or the steps in front of the high school building after classes. Our schedules were comprised purely of schoolwork and friends — we were one of those lucky ones who only had to worry about so much. We invented drama in our lives and dwelled on it, not realizing how ludicrous we were being and how clueless we were about how the world really worked. I was once one of those kids who thought I knew everything there is to know in this world. I was once one of those kids whom I've grown to hate as I got older.

Now, I see these kids on the train every single day as I make my way to work. I feel compelled to tell them to take it easy and to have fun while they still can. After all, being a grown up is so overrated — why are they rushing to get rid of their youth? Get rid of the nail polish (it'll just make your nails yellow), lose the make-up (believe me, when you get older, you will wish you can pull off not having to wear some), don't get too serious with the opposite sex (you have the rest of your life to get headaches from them), wear clothes that suit people your age (count your blessings that you can still follow trends), and most importantly, stay in school (believe me, you will miss it when you start scraping up your own dough). What I wouldn't give to be able to switch places with them.

In about a couple of hours, I will be marking my twenty-sixth year here on earth. Another year added onto my life. That means, I would have been one year wiser from my last birthday. Somehow, I don't feel any older or wiser. I feel like a fraud. This year will be my official foray into the “late twenties” group and I still feel the high-schooler living vivaciously in me — just a little more saged and jaded with experience but nonetheless still the same uncertain person that I always was.

I don't think we really let the child in us grow out completely. I like holding on to mine because it reminds me of that time in my life when I was deliriously happy and truly innocent. If only I took out the time to protect those moments instead of robbing myself off youthful naiveity, I could have enjoyed it that much longer. In my entire twenty six years, there isn't one day that I didn't refer to my past and search for little nibblets of happiness for me to ponder on. The happy memories keep me going in hopes that I will find more along the way.

I wish the kids on my train would realize that in ten years' time, they will be in my shoes looking back into their pasts desperately searching for something to hold on to. That they will be wishing for longer childhoods and more time to make mistakes. If only I can convey the sadness that I feel for them on how they seem to be losing their childhood faster and faster each day. And if only I can show them how precious they are at their age. I don't understand why they want to grow up so quickly.

It's funny, isn't it? Kids will do anything to be grown up whilst everything that adults want is to be kids all over again — devoid of all responsibilities and obligations.

Happy twenty sixth to me. And happy sweet sixteen to the kid still living inside me.