Rants of a Baby Girl

Childhood is part of everyone’s lives that don’t vanish abruptly only because we reach what they call adolescence and eventually, the peak, adulthood. When I was 10, I see my cousins who are in their late teenage years as way, way too old. When I turned eighteen, I told myself to change into more ladylike, the way an eighteen-year old should act. But it wasn’t easy. I’m 22 now, but I don’t feel like one. I want all aspects in me to grow, but sometimes, I don’t wanna be labeled as grown-up. Being grown-up have many restrictions, you can’t do this or that because you’re not a child anymore. Where is that blurry line that puts a mark between immaturity and childishness from maturity and adulthood?

I watched Finding Nemo last night. I still watch cartoons, I’m still fascinated with colorful things just like when I was six when Tazmanian Devil/X-Men/Ninja Turtles appears on the boob tube, or reading Archie back in fourth grade. In fact, Mulan and Monsters. Inc are one of the best movies ever created. At least, for me. I still indulge myself with ice candies available at Manang’s store, stain my teeth with chocolates, and melt candies on my saliva. I still chase butterflies and play tug-of-war with my younger brothers. I haven’t stopped cursing nasty mosquitoes every time they bit me and I still have no answer to my question: What is God's purpose in creating mosquitoes? Only as a vector for debilitating diseases? Perhaps. I haven’t gone away with my childhood. I say, gone NOT are the old days.

I am like Nemo. Or, I was. When I thought I had the mind of my own, I desperately want adventure. I was very eager to become independent and get away under the roof of my parents. I wanted to decide things on my own. I thought I was old enough. I wasn’t a rebel but I found myself arguing with my Mom sometime. My very first out-of-town-trip without my parents, but rather with high-school classmates and professors for a science field trip, was a total disaster. My father won’t let me go, he wanted to talk to the school principal. I knew then what would happen—there’d be no more field trip. I pleaded him not to talk to, otherwise, all hands will be pointed at me for spoiling it. My classmates were so excited planning out the entire journey, while I spend whole night crying hysterically at my room. I had extra-bulging eyelids and eye-bags the following day, such pitiful appearance convinced my Dad to sign the parent’s consent slip. I couldn’t contain my happiness that very moment. I felt like a bird out of its cage. The following field trips I had underwent through a loooooong sessions of debates and discussions for its approval, without the edematous eyes.

Now I understand why Papa’s so uber-exagg-strict before. I am his eldest, and he was not ready to see me swim into the vast Ocean alone. He thought I am not ready to meet huge sharks along the way. Maybe he doesn’t want to lose his kiti-kiti bulalan, his little baby girl. My younger siblings are extra-lucky because they haven’t experienced all those things. Perhaps Papa saw me unharmed when he opened the gate of the Ocean for me and so he loosened a little bit to my siblings (Read: Unfair. Hmp.) At the end of it all, he hasn’t lost his little girl. I am still exploring the Ocean and I know that for every obstacle that will come along my way, it is my family whom I shall turn my head to.