HARSH HUMANITY GENERATOR
It’s an all too familiar feeling – the Begending, the beginning of the end, where the days start to seem too short as time seems to not stop for those grasping at the days that are soon to pass.
I have 12 days of this so-called freedom left, before I have to depart for… it. The whatifs and ifonlys are starting to pile up in my thoughts, promising that the life ahead would’ve had been a better life IF ONLY I had put more effort into losing weight. Who gives a damn anyway, my head’s too large for the largest helmet. I don’t dread the army. I dread what would happen in the meanwhile.
Things are changing, definitely. Facebook is becoming increasingly barren, the messy status updates of friends (now acquaintances) thinning as the boys head to the barracks while the girls start earning.
Relentlessly-pinging and hair-tearing Whatsapp conversations are now desolate, leaving unanswered questions and frozen laughter in their wakes.
I’ve never actually been good at adapting to new things; camps used to reduce me to tears and longing for the comfort of the familiar. I used to look forward to the next year in life by looking at my brother and speaking under my breath: well, it doesn’t look so bad after all. And I often prove to be right.
Time seems to swing you into unfamiliar territory; roadside salesmen ask if you desire a new set top box, the days seem to slip by and the only company you can have are the late nights only fatigue can provide.
It seems like there’s too little time left, for the words unsaid, for the goals unmet, for the money unspent, for the friendships that I’m not ready to let go of, for the nice things in life that’ll I’d be damn well sure to cherish if only time could only stop for a bit.
All too quick, all too sudden.
The promise of maturity 12 days later has become little more than an order, a necessity to age and to face the next stage of life.
I’ve no other option but to face it like the man I not yet am. I guess.
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