Bidding the teenage era adieu

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Tonight is my last night being nineteen. That means it’s my last night of being a teenager. Though I am not your typical teenage girl, it’s still an end of an era. It seems like only yesterday my mom was reading me Beatrix Potter and my parents were taking me to Disneyland to watch The Lion King Parade or The Electric Light Parade. But that was so long ago, even those parades have come to a halt. I guess it is Disney’s way of showing me that my era of childhood is over and it’s time to move over for the next generation.

It’s such a bittersweet thing really, because in many ways I still feel like a child. As I am away at my counseling job --having the time of my life-- I have moments of homesickness. In fact when I was sick for a few day’s the only thing I wanted to do was go home and have my mom make me a cup of mint tea with a spoonful of honey, some chicken noodle soup, and a slice of toast while I watched Doctor Who with her. Something she only puts up with when I am ill. It’s not that I want to babied, it’s just that sometimes I want to go back to a simpler time where things seemed to always make sense.

Just a few moments ago I ended a Skype session with my mom. As the conversation came to a close our connection started to get a bit shaky, and she could no longer hear me even though I could hear her. Instead of trying to get a hold of me, she softly sang me one of my old lullabies. Like the pivotal moment of an action film, I desperately tried to save the connection only to realize it was no use. So I sat back against my pillow, snuggled deeper into my blanket, and decided to be a child once more as I listened to the last few verses of my lullaby. When she was done singing, she ended the session and I was left alone, wishing she could tuck me in like she once had a very long time ago.

Sometimes I don’t understand why people want to grow up so fast or why they are even embarrassed of their parents. I mean our parents do so much for us. Feed us, cloth us, put up with us when we are at our worst. They are kind of like the super heroes you read about in comic books, always there to catch you when you fall. I remember when I was little my mom would always joke about how birthdays should be about the one who gave birth not about the person who came out, something I now happen to agree with.

Above is something I wrote the night before I turned 20. I thought it would be nice to share it, since one day, when I am older I plan on rereading these blog posts and seeing how much my thoughts have changed.

The two pictures happen to be from my actual birthday.  Above is the cake my parents brought me from back home and below is a picture of my two counseling roommates (and best friends). All and all I had a very nice, relaxing day.

 

 

HKx