I couldn’t say when it happened. It just did. Like most things these days, it seemed to have come out of nowhere.
I often ask myself if any of this is truly real. Or if any of it really matters the way they say it does. In the end I still don’t really know. Every day, I wake up and I am this person. A person created from events past and events waiting to happen. Oddly enough I still don’t know how this person came to be or where they are going. Actually, there is still a lot I don’t know.
I don’t know where this routine came from, or why it is important. Rather than the obvious, which is money. I don’t know why I eat the same things day after day and choose to leave things as they are. This person that is me has evolved and embraced a lack of caring for many important events. Why should it matter if I cease to stop talking and why should it matter if I would rather talk to a stranger? Why should it matter that a person has lost interest in the novelty of friendship, and instead embraced the companionship of white walls and a warm blanket?
Society tells us things, and as time passes, they tell us more. And so in my mind I know that asking all of these questions or separating the self from myself is something rather insane. But can’t I simply just write a nice piece of writing about growing up, written in a crazy way just to show how crazy the experience is without me, myself being deemed nonsensical? Or would we rather just brush that emotion aside and just live as this person that we don’t remember becoming but knew we would one day become?
Maybe this is all a little trivial, to be consumed by the questions of who this person is and why I live their life. Perhaps wondering if there is some sort of alternate universe and having interest in knowing what it would look like if it were to exist, is trivial as well. That alternate universe may possibly just be an option that this person has not chosen, or better yet, all of the options that this person has not chosen. And so the alternate universe is simply what could have happened at every turn but won’t ever be. So here I am, with my warm blanket and white walls, possibly with a cup of tea at hand and a good bottle of wine. Who says you can’t have two wonderful drinks at once?
These may be all the questions of a crazy person’s babble, but that is alright, for this is just a piece of fiction about growing up.