Growing Up; Stepping Off The Bus.

         In a world of concrete and metal; it is easy to get lost. Although the signs on every road and turn is clearly marked, it is the way that your feet step each step, and the way your eyes view every detail, that determines how and what the circumstances of your arrival have become. Alone, we suddenly realise just how lonely life truly is in a world like this.

         I remember a time when innocence was the way you could describe life. Back then, the world was wide and wonderful. Back then, I could step onto any path and not fear getting lost. It was the way I grew up wanting to always see the world. But then I grew up. Suddenly you realise that there are so many things hiding behind those walls, and so many dangers beneath the safety of your own familiarities. Part of me is somewhat glad that I now see the way this world has shown its honesty to my older self. In other ways, I sometimes try so hard to want to always see that good and the kindness beneath all that darkness. It seems that these days, it is the darkness that is real, and the kindness that is the hidden faces within the crowd. After spending so much time seeing the world in the very perspective opposite to that, how does one change their line of vision? It isn't easy, that's for sure.

         Somewhere along the way, I suddenly find that I can't trust anyone. My good deeds are done not to help others, but to make my own soul feel at peace. In a world that I once thought to be a bigger picture that consists of me; I now see a world that is a picture in the distance - my own eyes watching in silence.

         No matter how many people I find who I can call friend, I always feel alone. In the depths of my mind, I feel as if I'm out of reach. And whenever anyone has the guts to try to even touch that hidden prison within, I curl back. I refuse to let them touch it. Because in a weird, twisted way; in a world that is so big and metal and concrete, where evryone and everything is both a part of you and not a part of you - that prison is all I truly have. It is the only part of my life that I can truly control with my own will, and without the ways of the world interfering. The only piece of me that still exists in all its entirety. With every other part of my being being dragged towards the million different paths in life; this prison is the one part that cannot and will not move.

         And that's when I realise that although I am doing something that benefits me completely, further still behind those bars, I feel as if I'm dying. It hurts when you realise that you are your own mistake, your own answer and your own suffering. To realise that in this world, although the norm of life has turned into the idea that we live to serve amongst each other, that we are no longer living selfishly depending on the strength of others; we are in fact, now left to stand alone and carry our burdens ourselves. As children, the wounds of the heavy loads of life, are cleaned and bandaged by our parents. By our family and friends. Ten odd years later, we realise that when our shoulders break, we remain walking and if we stop, we bear the brunt of missing the exit sign. It's like stepping off the bus. At the door, we could see for a moment, that we could get off on the stops, or stay and see where the bus goes. If we get off, we end up in a place where we are on our own, and the next decisions are up to us; whether to walk, run or sit down and wait. If we do not get off, we stay and let the bus take us anywhere it wants to. But we ourselves are not moving. We watch the world pass by and without us in it. We keep watching from the comfort of a seat and a driver - alienated in a sense. And yet, we understand that no matter how beautiful the scenery is, if we get off the bus, we are once again on our own. So growing up, is like that. It's the decision to either stay and remain in one place, bear the disadvantages; or get up and move on, bearing the skinned feet and broken knees. And through it all, it is our choice to make. And our choice to bear. And our choice to swallow.

         Standing now, at the door of the bus; for me, someone who has lived a life of a child, and yet is now being told that she is no longer such; it is hard to decide whether to get off and go for the trail no one has laid out - or to stay and watch the world move on without me. If I reach out, just a little, I feel I could touch it. But yet in the depths of my mind, it would not be enough. I want to touch the world myself. And I long to touch and bleed and cry, so long as I get to touch something real. And yet, it scares me that by doing so, I may be letting myself lose all that I once had as a child. Because I was and still am a child. And I do not want to lose that. So, I take what I have left of that time, and hide it within me. Somewhere, where no one can judge or find it. And I refuse to let anyone even try. I am growing up, and so much of myself is being integrated into the world of an adult. I only want that small piece to always be there. To always be a part of the me that I know.

         But as long as it is, I can never truly grow up. And that scares me as well. To think that I may never be ready to let go of the reins that have held me for so long. I do not want to be afraid of growing up. Standing not only at the door of the bus, but also facing the wide world of metal, concrete and steel; I know that there isn't anything that can protect me here, but yet I want to know that I am strong enough to endure it anyway. But am I? If I am, then it scares me that I may be going down a path where I would not even care when I get hurt. But if I am not, then it scares me then that I would always see the scars of the littlest hurts. It scares me either way. Either time. In either way of life.

         Growing up, is not something I can escape. I will be going towards the end of my life whether I like it or not. But at the end of all journeys, what will I be thinking? Will I be glad that part of me has never ceased seeing the beauty of every tear, or will I be hurt that I gave up all the innocence of my heart in return for the weapons to fight in my everyday battles? Will I be glad that I am taking my child-soul with me to the grave, or that I killed her so many years ago? For now, I do not know. I am still trying to figure it out. And in the end of the story, I'll have to face the God of all himself and accept that whether I lived the way I wanted to or not, I lived and made my choices. Whether he takes me into His arms and tells me it will be alright, or if he says that I must now face my sins myself; I will take it and breathe it. Because in the end, I will always be in my prison. And in the end, with or without forgiveness; it will always be all that I have.