And then I wondered why I give blogging--and writing--so much importance when (1) it's an irrevocable reminder of how much time I have for it, which isn't so good especially because I ought to be spending those hours and days over something more . . . financially worthwhile and (2) it encourages run-on sentences (as in this one) and an unordered spilling of thoughts.
I can barely make smooth transitions.
I wish I'm not ranting, but I feel like I am.
So maybe blogging and writing is important for me because it makes my brain work. Maybe it's a sort-of independent attempt at learning, because I refuse to go back to school (for a higher education that higher education--I'm already done with college, that's what I mean). And maybe it's the only way I still get to express my thoughts because I hardly do that with real, live, flesh and blood people.
Last Saturday night, I was with my family at a mall. We drove my little sister to the hotel where their high school prom would be held. I felt so old then, thinking that it seemed only yesterday (okay, maybe not really yesterday) when it was me that they were driving off to my first high school prom.
But then I looked at my brother, who came along with his girlfriend and son, and I knew that in some ways someone else had grown older than me. I figured it wasn't the age that determined oldness.
While roaming around the mall, my nephew was going nuts over the carousel and the rental carts (like small cars). I wondered how he had grown into someone that appreciates those kinds of things when before, we only regaled him with tickles and everything colorful. I got a knock in the head from my inner self: you're already 21, girl, and he came when you were only 19--it's been more than a year.
But hey, wasn't it just recently that we were celebrating his first birthday? How come he's on his way closer to his second?
Imagine all those thoughts when I'm not even 22 and he's not even my son.
And then Sunday came. We got visitors, friends that my father knew since childhood, men who were my godfathers, and their families. It was a gathering we used to do every Christmas when we were all younger and that simply faded out of the scene because we started welcoming different traditions.
While the women sat and gossiped around the dining table and the men laughed loudly outside, I found myself thinking--someday I guess my brain would simply fall apart from too much thinking, you think?--about how much we've all grown. Up and apart. The elders have went through promotions, new washing machines, new houses, renovations, better jobs, new businesses. And the children have went through elementary and high school and college. I have even went through a first job.
It wasn't an easy thought to have, some even freak out because of it. But I kind of enjoyed it. Maybe because as a child I've always wondered how we would be if all of us kids (then) grow up and that day, when I realized how much of my childhood imaginations have actually come true, there were some things that just didn't change.
Like laughter, for example. And personalities. And the stories they tell and the questions they ask. Remember when . . . ? Have you got a boyfriend now? I find myself smiling at that thought.
Because seriously, when you're in a stage when things and lives around you are changing faster than the way you blink your eyes, it's comforting to know that there are things didn't--and wouldn't--change.
Like the fact of life.
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