There are times that I sit down to think about my own-self. How I was a year ago and how I am now. It’s crazy how much a year can change you.
Being an introvert and having a few friends that I used to talk on a daily basis made me the way I was. I had more life in me than ever. And then the pandemic. It was even too much for someone like me who rarely speaks a word except to her close friends.
The past year in complete isolation I’ve found many ways to become a modified person. Maybe better maybe worst. I don't know about that. That’s what I’d have to ask people. But amidst me trying to improve and trying to groom myself, I miss the old me.
The me who thought fantasies are the most realest things that could happen. That its okay to be unrealistic, non practical and to think that everything would turn out just as I plan them to be.
Have you ever felt it? The feeling when you’re growing older. Becoming wiser maybe, becoming realistic. But there's a constant urge to go back. To re live certain phases. To be careless as we used to be. To be oblivious of how cruel and reckless the real world is. To have rose colored glasses on and to see the world from the eyes of a poet. To be able to write without thinking and write just what you feel. To be a child. To be able to think of people the way you think of yourself. To be less judgmental. To be less cautious of what nonsense you say. To be completely raw and to be always thinking of a new way to explore. Finding a new thing every day.
Now that I'm a tad bit older and I know a lot of how the world works. Though it does in some mysterious ways. I find myself looking for something new. That something new being the old me. Looking for a change. Looking for a magic clock to reel back the time.
I wish i could go back to being the younger me. The one who used to be discovering something new everyday. About people. About the world. About life. Though it was a hustle it was at least something to look forward to. Now when i know, when its all straight forward, set, fixed and predictable. Or to put it how I feel, boring and real. It isn't that fun anymore. Knowing you’ll be grinding the same routine for the next 40 years or so. Its weary and tiresome just thinking about it.
I miss my old self. The less informed. The more spontaneous and the ever so childish and dumb me. But the sad thing is we can’t undo what’s done. You can’t undo being an adult. You can never have those teen years back.
That’s something I’ll genuinely miss for the rest of my life. The old me.
