25, Mental Age, 5

Now that I can be measured in a nice fraction of a decade, I’d like to say with the flailing wisdom of a young adult, that life would always be funny. Bunnies may not be as cute as they seem, and the guy with a face of an Italian mafia may have the softest heart (true story). At this age, I laughed out loud at Mickey Mouse clips while the toddler beside me kept a straight face. And ironically somebody who talks can be a lot more boring than a monitor screen.

I am one full of dreams (some may say my dreams conflict each other), yet at the same time anxieties. Believe me, the hole can only be filled with either one. What I choose to fill my hole with everyday defines what I will be in a few years time. But I was taught to not worry; to remember those lilies that neither spin nor toil. I was told to not fear, 365 times, one for each day of the year.

About that little library, that only exists in my head. I still want it. With reading nooks and picture books, spilled on pages and torn covers. My books are not ornaments for display, they were my paradise and will be for many others. I will teach them to read before sleeping and quietly slip the book underneath the pillow so nobody can steal it from their dreams, and it will be the first thing to touch when the mind is ready for more.

I was 5 when I had chicken pox, handed down from my sister. There is a picture of me naked in the bathtub showing off my red itchy spots. I was not sick, I was on a vacation. Free, even in things that seemed like a misery. I wrote more letters when I was five, I prayed unceasingly when I had to be left at home alone. I wanted to ride a roller coaster, but I wasn’t tall enough, so my dad took me to a nearby miniature and took a picture of me pretending to scream. I was satisfied. I was second from last in class. Do you think I cared.

A few years later I started caring. And I became daring, taking opportunities that came my way, thinking they will never come again. And I would be the most stupid person to reject them. Here I am on the eve of 25, still with the whole world before me, searching and waiting for many other opportunities to present themselves. Yet, I know that I can easily die tomorrow, because I have seen life being extremely funny. Don’t get me wrong, I am excited. Very excited, as a matter of fact. Because I think this is the right time to take a plunge. I have climbed high enough to be ready to jump and enjoy the thrill. But, sometimes, I scare myself for being greedy and for not knowing when to stop climbing. I just don’t want to be too high and too scared to leap.

So, here’s to 25, and to enjoying life. To following the call of the heart and giving thanks. To learn to see life as if I am five: to be joyful in all circumstances, to write more, to pray more. And if what I have dreamt of does not come true, to be satisfied with the next best thing. For the most part, the next best thing turns out to be the best thing anyways. Thank You for the past 25 years, they had been really wonderful. I am looking forward to the next 25 times 365 of do-not-fears. And since we’re talking about being five, let me end here with the wise words of carefree Dory: Just keep swimming! Cheers!