Still a child
Fifteen, 16, 17—the age where we start to question everything. We were once clueless innocent children who loved playing under the blazing sun. Having all the time in life, we used to not stress about the unknown tomorrows. When we fall down, we cry in the arms of someone. When we can’t get what we want, we resort to throwing tantrums. And when we’re upset, there will be words of comfort to ease our concerns.
We were all once honest children who easily spilled the cup of worries we held. It has always been easy to rely on someone else. They have the right phrases of assurance to our child’s play matters. Children are indeed transparent and real. They can’t mask the emotions they feel. They can’t hold back the cries they want to let out when they’re hurting. They can’t hide the face of disappointment when they’re unable to grab what they want.
But as we got older, we began to shut our doors. We rarely go out. The neighbors we used to play with are now strangers. We now struggle with simple greetings. Before, as long as we’re the same age, we can automatically make friends. Now that our interests and viewpoints have developed, we have begun to set boundaries on our own. We create a new, different direction. We began to handle matters of unexpected encounters the universe set us to face.
Some long for perfection, others deal with mediocrity. There are people who remain unveiled with what they feel, while the rest have not only locked their doors, they have also closed the windows to conceal the light from outside. Few cry for help while many start to cope in a different way to ease their pain. Either disturbing the peace of others or wounding the soul of oneself. The latter one is the choice almost all take.
I once had a surreal dream, it felt like a trip to the afterlife where I witnessed how the stairs at my house become curved with never-ending steps to take before reaching an end. It suddenly popped out, it then took me into an empty, colorless dimension facing different rooms with people I know in real life. As I tried to walk through it, each room played scenarios of everything I was afraid of. In that dream, it was the opposite of what was causing my distress. I was happy from that point of view, while in reality, I was completely soulless. My family couldn’t hear a word from me or a reaction. The feelings I held were completely indescribable. It’s as if the thread between life and me wanted to break out.
A few moments after the play, everything popped out again. Now I saw a group of people walking toward me. Undecided on what to do, I tried to turn my eyes to the other side. But the strangers straight up approached me just to say, “You’re so pretty!” At that time, I was having a difficult time dealing with my body image. With clothes that no longer fit, a style that no longer suited me, and a face that couldn’t even smile on camera. I vividly remember breaking down into tears hearing that phrase.
For the last time, it popped out again and the last take was my reality of clouded thoughts no loved one can stay comfortable hearing. I woke up sweating, with a mix of relief and fear. And all of a sudden, something inside me ignited. Withholding the realization of what can still be changed and fixed, I held on to the thread once again.
Almost two years have passed, and there are still a lot of times when I try to question my decisions. There are still nights of breakdown sessions, remembering the chances I’ve lost dealing with myself mentally. With these scribbled thoughts, I now try to write them out for others to understand. In the end, I can still say, I’m a child at 16.
I can’t mask, hold back, and hide the emotions I feel or else I’ll burst. I need to unveil myself and let others see me so that I can also see them. I once thought that superhero stories were far from reality, of an ordinary citizen who suddenly becomes responsible for the safety of those in need of help. But I’ve come to realize that like those superheroes, I also aspire to know what disturbed the smile of the child in them. And how can they convey those veiled melancholies of sufferings they thought only they could understand.
Even in your 20s, 30s, and 60s, you can still be a child. A child who cries when they’re upset. A child who wants to lean on someone. A child who wants someone to knock on their doors and take them outside to stay in the sun and talk about life. A child who can express their disappointment. A child who wants someone to listen and stay beside them.
May you remain a child who can openly express yourself in this world.
Princess Nicolie Vera Obias, 16, is an incoming Grade 11 student.
