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Wanting to Grow Up259Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWrLPiwqpea
Being a kid is the most terrible thing I will ever go through. Or at least that’s what I think now. More often than not, I’m wrong. When I was younger, I wanted to grow up. Now that I’m a teen going through teen things like puberty, hell, pain, suffering, and the like, I want nothing more than to be a kid again—or to speed up the process and pass over this suffering.
I had this big idea about what growing up would be like. Because when I was younger, my parents weren’t the best. They were the worst. I’m not even exaggerating. It was like hell on Earth and I was constantly praying to God for him to help me; to save me. Of course, God had a plan and I should just wait, but why would God do this to such a young child?
That’s when I would daydream: Maybe if I grew up, they would stop hurting me. Maybe if I wasn’t so small, I could defend myself. Maybe if I wasn’t so scared, I could fight them. Maybe, just maybe, if I was better than I was at that moment, I wouldn’t be going through this. Maybe it’s my fault.
I was homeschooled for a while. My mom would have me at the dining table working on math problems way beyond my grade level. Heck, I wasn’t even in Kindergarten yet. I should’ve been in preschool. In all that time, I felt so dumb when I got a question wrong or didn’t understand the “simplest” question. It wasn’t my fault, but that didn’t matter if you had an Asian mother hovering over your shoulder with a slipper or belt in hand.
I still remember. They bought a school desk, the ones with a chair connected to the table. I would sit near the window, studying. I would look outside and see a young boy walking to school. He was probably in elementary school. But to me, he didn’t look diminutive. He looked tall and cool. I would always think the older kids were so cool–that they were living some American school stereotype dream: Popular kids, rebellion, and hanging out after school.
Like everyone does, I grew up. So did the boy. Each time I saw him, he would seem to grow. He changed. It was like watching a butterfly change from a caterpillar. By the time I switched from private schooling to public, he was probably in high school. And he would always be walking. Some people drive or take the bus, but he would be walking. I got to a point when I’d get oddly excited to see him. Every time he didn’t show up, I got worried he was sick or something.
I don’t remember the last time I saw him. Probably when I got to 5th grade. I grew. And no, 5th grade was not as cool as I thought it would be. There weren’t any extra self-esteem boosts you get. There wasn’t a coming-of-age scene where my friends would call each other on the phone about a sleepover. There weren't any hangouts. There weren’t any boyfriends or girlfriends—for me. I thought it was so unfair that other 5th graders were getting all lovey-dovey. Now, I’m so glad I didn’t make that mistake.
I grew up in a time when touchscreen phones were becoming a thing. All the other kids got phones. I didn’t have one. I didn’t deserve one. I was too young. It would just rot my brain. You can guess that it was probably my parents who said that. If everyone was getting one, why couldn’t I? There I was again, wanting to grow up. Maybe if I was in high school, I could get one. Maybe if I could prove that I deserved one, they’d get it. If I made them extra proud…
No. No, it’s impossible.
What was there left to do? I was in elementary school with over a hundred awards to my name, part of the student council, perfect grades, and perfect everything, but I was still not perfect to them. Maybe the only thing left I had to do was show them I was old enough to understand… But I understood it so well.
The day I entered middle school was when I grew up. Each day we grow, I just didn’t realize it. Growing up is realizing that. 2019, COVID-19, a new boyfriend, new interests, new hobbies, more awards, more talents: I thought I was everything. I fished an old phone from the trash too. I got into technology, enlightening myself with everything.
That year, I found things out. I learned things I wouldn’t otherwise have known. It was also the year I grew up and saw my parents as enemies. Everything they did, it didn’t matter to me. Because when I did everything, what did they do? Needless to say, it was a downward spiral.
Heartbreak, drama, trauma, sheer agony, and I was already ready to grow up, get old, and die. Awards? Clubs? Grades? Gone. All gone. Down the drain. Years of pressure and suffering with just even more apparent pressure and suffering. By the time I entered high school in the year ‘21, I wasn’t sure if there was any growing left to do. I was jaded and practically ready to go.
Now here I am. You may be wondering the reason why I’m writing this essay about something so trivial to most people. I’m wondering as well. I just had a cup of coffee and I’m already up to 930 words in under an hour. I just had a lot to get off my chest. Or perhaps, like many times before, I go back to the same thought I had: I want to grow up.
Yes, after 15 years, it’s still not growing enough and it’s true. But it makes me feel a bit wistful for the time passed. Why can’t I just enjoy it like normal people? Why am I waiting to die when I should be out there living? Just a thought. I’ve gone through a lot, it can’t be that bad, can it?
When I “grow up” I’ll be able to move out. I’ll make my decisions. I won’t have to put up with anyone… until I get a job, pay taxes, and worry about things I didn’t have to worry about prior. Then I’ll envy my younger self… or want to grow up.
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