Back when these dull eyes glimmered with purity; when I loved without expectations of being loved back and was loved back regardless; when my imagination ran rampant; when I observed without judging; when my mom’s words were gospel, and my dad was invincible; when I dreamt of plucking the stars, I was happy without a cause.

I am not that person anymore. The child in me died gradually right before my eyes, and there was nothing I could do. As of now, I am who I was expected to be; a façade, dare I say, a functioning member of society. My dreams shaped with reality, my imagination limited by practicality, my desires insatiable, and my thoughts diluted by reasoning. My parents are everyday people. I am too scared to love and too busy to live. Gone are the days when everyone was a friend and every day a jive. Maybe the child in me is not dead but rather suppressed. But I dare not bring him forth, for he wouldn’t be able to survive the world I’ve built around me. Those shoulders would crumble under the responsibilities I bear; those hands would be stained with sin; those knees would cave into the pressure; those eyes would reek of greed.

I miss him. When I was oblivious of the future and had no past, I lived in the present. I even get a tad envious at times, if I am being honest. I wish I had the same spirit I had back then. I wish I could savor life like he did. I often wish I was the same person I was years ago. Sometimes, in solitude, I wonder what he’d have to say if we ever met. Maybe he’d be proud of who I’ve become; maybe he’d feel sorry; maybe he’d be indifferent. I will never know. If there are words I’d die to hear, it’s the first of those maybes.

Perhaps, at times, I’m too conceited to let go of what was. Maybe I am being overdramatic. Maybe the child in me is gone for good. Change, as they say, is inevitable. And I am fine with that because for a brief stretch of time, this carbon entity savored existing and that’s all that matters. If everything was forever, maybe we’d run out of their fondness. The memories of what was, make us cherish what is and the constant fleeting of what is, makes us long for what will be. As for me, I am at peace with what I am today, for I’ve gained more than what I’ve lost. Sure, it would be great to find solace in the arms of unadulterated me. But I’ve moved on and I’m not looking back.

What a magnificent universe to waste reminiscing the past when the entirety of the future remains unexplored. What an honor to grow up. What an honor to be able to take care of the people of who once looked after you. What an honor to embrace someone unbeknownst into your life and spend an eternity with them. To find out the ones you loved are flawed and love them regardless. To be able to comprehend the complexities of life. To survive in this cruel yet beautiful world on your own. To earn love. To have your actions propelled by reason. What an honor to sober up from the delusions of childhood! The death of who I was is but the birth of who I will be.