When It’s Good to Die Young

I can’t grow up and get old if I don’t die young.

To be able to live forever or to live for many years at least, appeals to a lot of people including myself. Who wouldn’t want to in the first place? You get to experience life’s triumphs for a long long time and you might be able to correct your mistakes in the past such that good old conscience won’t hurt that much.

Staying young however doesn’t appeal much to me. When I was young, I had no voice, no rights whatsoever. I hated how hormones during puberty got the best of me when I had no choice (or so it seemed) but to let them take over. The frequent visit of depression and my failure to understand and appreciate my introversion (and the power that lies in being quiet) were the main villains of my nauseating roller-coaster ride.

If I’d be asked to go back in time to experience my youth again, I might as well say pass with much gusto. Those were dangerous times for me, when I was stupid, uninformed and too afraid to live like a greenhorn US marine in ‘Nam during the 70s.

I’d rather be older and wiser. Letting go of youth is rather a good riddance for me than parting with a good old friend in tears. It took me forever waiting to die young in order to get old fast and be the wiser version of myself. Of course there is still a lot to learn and I am not saying that I am now a complete person now that I’m older. I just don’t want to stay young petrified with life’s confounding interrogations on why the heck am I still on my feet and breathing. I wanted to grow up and to get old and wiser. Sure I still get dumbfounded at times though I’ve grown numb enough to smirk instead of cowering in fear.

If only I can retain a part of my youth now that I’m all grown up it’d be strength. But yeah I can only wish.

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