Maturity
I have long since matured even before dinosaurs roamed the Earth; I had grown into maturity when I was in middle school, brought about by some unfortunate incidents in the household and arrangements I had to live with – unfortunate incidents that are so
shallow anyway, shallower than a pond. But nonetheless, I believe that how I looked at life when I was ten wasn’t how a normal kid would look at life when he/she is also ten. Sometimes I take pride in this achievement – formulating perspectives with a child’s eyes but an adult’s mind – but when I think about it, growing up too fast is a sad thing. I had childhood experiences: I played outdoor games and got scabs, fought with boys over petty matters, had countless embarrassing scenes that wouldn’t fit in a slum book, got my arm broken and my ass exposed, ran away crying at the sight of evil clowns. But they weren’t
enough. When I consider other children’s experiences, I get
jealous. I envy them for reasons I can’t fathom. Dissatisfaction is utterly upsetting.
These are things I can’t go back to and reverse. Nobody can alter what has happened in the past. What happened before stays just the way we left it. I would’ve wanted a happier and no ass exposure childhood, but there’s nothing I can do but accept everything and etch in my mind that the things I did before molded me to what I am right now.
Some public figure had said before, “Girls become mature earlier than boys, but when they become adults themselves, they start to act like children.” Sex-related issues aside, this is probably true. Majority of boys stay as
boys while they’re still boys; girls act like
women while they’re still girls, but when they reach womanhood, they incline towards childishness and probably resort to throwing tantrums and whining. I am also a girl, and of course I’m all for woman power and heroines and all that, but most of the time, this situation happens. And I can’t state a living example since I don’t pry into people’s maturity level and keep their progress in perfect folders. Since this is a personal blog and a personal post, maybe I can just state me and my maturity as an example. (Bear with me.)
When I became a teenager and hormones started wrecking my life, the level of maturity I had had started decreasing, leaving its highest peak and bringing back the child brain I long since left. I started thinking irrationally and always asked for more, for something better, if not the best. I started caring about social status and money and having many friends. Becoming Popular seated next to Becoming Smart in my priority list. I
shoved my way to the front line; I didn’t want to be left behind. I became a hypocrite and a dishonest person. I hungered for admiration like how an evil scientist hungered for evil schemes. I wore a mask that not only hid the real me, but also slowly changed what was left. A shallow bitch with shallow goals and even shallower substance – that was the hormone-ridden, immature me. It was bad. It looked bad.
It made me bad.
And this is one of the moments when I thank God past remains in the past. Maybe it will hunt me as I grow older and regain that substance I lost, but I won’t let it break me. As Pittacus Lore said, “We don’t have to be defined by the things we did or didn’t do in our past.” (See:
I Am Number Four – and who said aliens don’t talk sense?)
I won’t let my mistakes push me off balance and slip my tight hold to sanity and righteousness. I would use super glue if necessary.
If you may ask me whether I already stop being that shallow bitch or not, I’m happy to tell you that I did – well, not completely (I still hunger for admiration), but I’m learning to let go and be contented with the things I have. I won’t stop hungering (“hungering” sounds like what a predator would say, no?) for things, but I have learned to strive only for what would satiate my needs and my ambitions.
I don’t give a fuck about popularity anymore (they only happen in chick flicks); I’d rather have a small number of honest and true friends than have a big number of people my heart don’t know. I’d rather work in the shadows than brag my ass out. My social status dilemma is still a dilemma, but it only reaches my social life and
not my standing in it. If before I was so obsessed with socializing that I almost became a social climber, now I’m having agoraphobia; my reading hinders me from going out and meeting people, but I like it that way – and no, don’t worry, I still know what malls are and that people don’t sit in cocktail parties most of the time. The front liner persona that I played for a long time is now dying, and I’m glad; I now only want to work as efficiently as I can
without shoving everyone off,
without ruining the solidarity that should always remain unbroken,
without hurting other’s feelings. Yes, I’m having trouble with this part, but I’m getting there – there will come a time when I’d work with everyone harmoniously and effectively. That time is ticking by slowly, but at least it’s still
ticking and not
ceasing.
I’m still open to more mistakes and a lot of changes, and I know someday the shallow bitch will come again, but I now know how to resurface. I know how to return and resume.
And when that moment comes, I will come back.
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a woeful & chaotic diary since 071409
Maturity
I have long since matured even before dinosaurs roamed the Earth; I had grown into maturity when I was in middle school, brought about by some unfortunate incidents in the household and arrangements I had to live with – unfortunate incidents that are so
shallow anyway, shallower than a pond. But nonetheless, I believe that how I looked at life when I was ten wasn’t how a normal kid would look at life when he/she is also ten. Sometimes I take pride in this achievement – formulating perspectives with a child’s eyes but an adult’s mind – but when I think about it, growing up too fast is a sad thing. I had childhood experiences: I played outdoor games and got scabs, fought with boys over petty matters, had countless embarrassing scenes that wouldn’t fit in a slum book, got my arm broken and my ass exposed, ran away crying at the sight of evil clowns. But they weren’t
enough. When I consider other children’s experiences, I get
jealous. I envy them for reasons I can’t fathom. Dissatisfaction is utterly upsetting.
These are things I can’t go back to and reverse. Nobody can alter what has happened in the past. What happened before stays just the way we left it. I would’ve wanted a happier and no ass exposure childhood, but there’s nothing I can do but accept everything and etch in my mind that the things I did before molded me to what I am right now.
Some public figure had said before, “Girls become mature earlier than boys, but when they become adults themselves, they start to act like children.” Sex-related issues aside, this is probably true. Majority of boys stay as
boys while they’re still boys; girls act like
women while they’re still girls, but when they reach womanhood, they incline towards childishness and probably resort to throwing tantrums and whining. I am also a girl, and of course I’m all for woman power and heroines and all that, but most of the time, this situation happens. And I can’t state a living example since I don’t pry into people’s maturity level and keep their progress in perfect folders. Since this is a personal blog and a personal post, maybe I can just state me and my maturity as an example. (Bear with me.)
When I became a teenager and hormones started wrecking my life, the level of maturity I had had started decreasing, leaving its highest peak and bringing back the child brain I long since left. I started thinking irrationally and always asked for more, for something better, if not the best. I started caring about social status and money and having many friends. Becoming Popular seated next to Becoming Smart in my priority list. I
shoved my way to the front line; I didn’t want to be left behind. I became a hypocrite and a dishonest person. I hungered for admiration like how an evil scientist hungered for evil schemes. I wore a mask that not only hid the real me, but also slowly changed what was left. A shallow bitch with shallow goals and even shallower substance – that was the hormone-ridden, immature me. It was bad. It looked bad.
It made me bad.
And this is one of the moments when I thank God past remains in the past. Maybe it will hunt me as I grow older and regain that substance I lost, but I won’t let it break me. As Pittacus Lore said, “We don’t have to be defined by the things we did or didn’t do in our past.” (See:
I Am Number Four – and who said aliens don’t talk sense?)
I won’t let my mistakes push me off balance and slip my tight hold to sanity and righteousness. I would use super glue if necessary.
If you may ask me whether I already stop being that shallow bitch or not, I’m happy to tell you that I did – well, not completely (I still hunger for admiration), but I’m learning to let go and be contented with the things I have. I won’t stop hungering (“hungering” sounds like what a predator would say, no?) for things, but I have learned to strive only for what would satiate my needs and my ambitions.
I don’t give a fuck about popularity anymore (they only happen in chick flicks); I’d rather have a small number of honest and true friends than have a big number of people my heart don’t know. I’d rather work in the shadows than brag my ass out. My social status dilemma is still a dilemma, but it only reaches my social life and
not my standing in it. If before I was so obsessed with socializing that I almost became a social climber, now I’m having agoraphobia; my reading hinders me from going out and meeting people, but I like it that way – and no, don’t worry, I still know what malls are and that people don’t sit in cocktail parties most of the time. The front liner persona that I played for a long time is now dying, and I’m glad; I now only want to work as efficiently as I can
without shoving everyone off,
without ruining the solidarity that should always remain unbroken,
without hurting other’s feelings. Yes, I’m having trouble with this part, but I’m getting there – there will come a time when I’d work with everyone harmoniously and effectively. That time is ticking by slowly, but at least it’s still
ticking and not
ceasing.
I’m still open to more mistakes and a lot of changes, and I know someday the shallow bitch will come again, but I now know how to resurface. I know how to return and resume.
And when that moment comes, I will come back.
← older / top / newer →
a woeful & chaotic diary since 071409
Profile
Already several months had passed, and I am missing
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry more and more each fleeting day. There are just some things in life that we can never forget – especially that something that had given us knowledge, skills, strong relationships and a second home. I am glad that everything in the magical world is now at peace, since Voldemort (yes, I can now say his name; no need to be afraid) had died. I had secretly admired Tom Marvolo Riddle (Voldemort’s birth name) though, because of his intelligence, passion and love for magic. Wasn’t he very clever to think of and conjure his seven
Horcruxes to preserve his life, or form a clan of
Death Eaters who were very loyal to him and would give up their lives just for him to succeed? Not everybody can acquire that much loyalty from people these days. I do not, however, admire him for the way he had carried out all of his plans. He had a good agenda, his means just weren’t morally right. But he still is one of the darkest wizards of all time… and let’s leave it that way.
Oh, for all those who are baffled of what I’m saying here and who the heck I am, my name is
Christine Faye Ordas, and I am an alumnus of Hogwarts. I came from the bronze-and-blue-clad house of the smart ass witch Rowena Ravenclaw and her dictum
“Wit beyond measure is a man’s greatest treasure.” And yes, I know the wonderful Luna Lovegood (she’s such a darling) and Harry Potter’s first crush Cho Chang. I had just left Hogwarts last May. Right now I am trying to pursue a career in magical researches, literature and writing. It’s my dream to inscribe intellectual books, publish and sell them in
Flourish and Blotts for the future Hogwarts students’ use. I am also planning to credibly write for the
Daily Prophet, the magical world’s primary news bulletin. And of course, I will be very much honored to contribute to Mr. Xenophilius Lovegood’s
Quibbler (hence, my interest in magical researches). I have always found the Lovegoods a fascinating family, and I bet working with and for them will be very exciting. Or maybe, in Merlin’s beard’s time, I can write legends and bedtime stories like the famous – and wickedly brilliant – Beedle the Bard.
And that’s how my life goes these days. I am utterly missing my old school, my friends, the Great Hall, the bronze eagle knocker just outside the Ravenclaw common room, Professor Flitwick (the head of our house), Hogsmeade, the Quidditch matches (although I didn’t actually play for the house), the moving portraits, the castle ghosts, the pumpkins on Halloween, the giant pine trees on Christmas, Rubeus Hagrid’s (Hogwarts’ gamekeeper) tea and treacle fudge – even the crabby Argus Filch (Hogwarts’ caretaker) I miss. Maybe I can visit the school grounds sometimes and see how the magical world’s been doing since Voldemort died (I’ve been spending my months in the muggle world, you see). I’ve heard everybody’s been moving on and starting all over again; the ministry is back on work under Kingsley Shacklebolt; and Harry Potter’s scar haven’t been disturbing him since.
All is well, indeed.
And because of that, we should celebrate and drink firewhisky! Oh, I still don’t drink firewhisky; I can take butterbeer or tea or pumpkin juice – just not firewhisky, please.
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