“Most people don’t grow up. It’s too damn difficult. What happens is most people get older. That’s the truth of it. They honor their credit cards, they find parking spaces, they marry, they have the nerve to have children, but they don’t grow up. Not really. They get older. But to grow up costs the earth, the earth. It means you take responsibility for the time you take up, for the space you occupy. It’s serious business. And you find out what it costs us to love and to lose, to dare and to fail. And maybe even more, to succeed. What it costs, in truth.” — Maya Angelou
one day you realise what growing up really means,
it’s not in the eagerly anticipated benchmarks of ‘adulthood’,
like graduating, landing your first office job, or getting a mortgage,
rather, it’s in the moments you miss if you blink,
it’s your childhood house on the market,
your grandparents passing away,
your mothers head flooded in grey,
it’s in you becoming an aunt or an uncle,
your younger brother exceeding you in not only height — but wisdom,
it’s being caught in the middle of two generations,
growing up is slowly losing your mother tongue,
desperately clinging onto your culture,
making new family traditions,
it’s finding your own mosque,
building your tribe,
friends becoming family,
your next of kin changing,
growing up is developing opinions of your own,
not looking to elders for answers or approval,
while offering unsolicited advice to youngsters,
it’s the medical mysteries you can’t get to the bottom of, when you were the epitome of health just yesterday,
it’s the irony, the hypocrisy, and all of that in-between,
growing up is being unable to show up on doorstops unannounced,
or knocking for your friends like you once did,
it’s plans going in the diary months in advance,
the death of surprises and spontaneity,
the birth of calendars and never-ending to-do lists,
growing up is circling properties on Rightmove, when you once circled toys on the Argos catalogue,
it’s still being over budget,
knowing that not much has changed all these years later,
you’re still just a kid with dreams in a world that won’t grant them to you,
growing up is realising that you will never be 16, 18, 21 or 25 again,
that after 30, life flashes by,
that the next milestone years you’ll celebrate will come in decades,
that you don’t know how many of these you have left,
that you can probably count the rest on one hand,
yet, you remember that the “best” years of your life don’t exist,
that you are just getting started,
that it only gets better,
it’s in the desperate attempts of your present self,
to make your younger self proud,
to not disservice your future self,
it’s in holding space for all these different versions and realities,
growing up is a series of repeated heartbreaks, even when you are happy,
it’s experiencing pain and joy in a single moment,
it’s two truths existing at the same time,
it’s in the realisation that you are both more and less special than you think,
growing up is realising that the syllabus failed to prepare you for real life,
that life is an endless cycle of trials and tribulations,
of learning and unlearning,
that experience is your greatest teacher,
it’s having the courage to admit “I don’t know”, “I change my mind” and “I’m sorry”,
it’s extending grace,
to yourself — just as much as you do to others,
it’s in discovering that we’re all still figuring it out,
and surrendering to that very fact,
it’s finding peace in the unknown,
it’s developing faith, and having it tested time and time again,
and I will try to remember that there was a time before,
before my life were a ticking time bomb before my eyes,
before my loved ones were a picture in a frame,
before my siblings and I convened in a group chat when we once shared meals,
before my father was an occasional phone call, and my mother a visit,
I will try to remember a time when I referred to the home I grew up in as mine, and not my “parents’ house”,
before I was acquainted with burdens and expectations,
before the repressed memories were the burning resentment I have yet to work through,
mostly,
growing up is uncovering what it truly means along the way,
its demands and possibilities,
its sacrifices and occasional triumphs,
it’s in wishing you hadn’t been in a rush to do so,
it’s appreciating the rare moments of stillness amid the chaos,
it’s realising that the grass is not always greener on the other side,
or even where you water it,
it’s in finally understanding the bliss in ignorance,
it’s questioning whether it would have easier to simply succumb to your naivety,
to have swallowed society’s opinion on the matter,
it’s wondering whether it’s too late to do so,
and,
in the process of growing up,
you ask yourself — how does anyone avoid falling down?
***
“Soon, I’ll be 60 years old, will I think the world is cold? Or will I have a lot of children who can warm me?” — 7 Years by Lukas Graham
These photos were taken almost two decades ago. And I can’t help but marvel at the similarities and differences to my current self.
My favourite colour is still red. Dixy remains my local chicken shop. I rock off shoulder frequently. I wear that gold necklace daily. I probably am not as courageous or outwardly confident. I’ve developed reservations over the year. My worldview has undoubtedly changed. Though I am content with where I’m at now, I still sometimes mourn the person I was and the person my seven-year-old self thought I would be. Though I’m often reminded that to mourn anything is a gift in and of itself. So, here’s to remaining grateful for the past and hopeful for the future.
And if I’m blessed with a long life, I look forward to revisiting Graham’s lyrics and asking myself that very same question at 60 years old.
