Once and never again

I remember myself three and a half feet tall, with black shoulder-level hair, young and beautiful eyes, and a naive smile that wonderfully painted happiness.

For me, the world was too big to conquer because what my eyes could see in the mirror was only a young girl who would keep playing for the rest of her life, only a kid who knew nothing about school and best friends, “ghohol” (group hangout-hangout lang), peer pressure, love, responsibilities and many more BIG things. The world was indeed too big for me. But I kept believing that it revolved around no one but me. Yet things changed each time the number put on my birthday cake changed.

I saw toy cars, Blue Magic teddy bears, miniatures of Hello Kitty and Jollibee, colorful dolls, and nothing else scattered in my room. As I moved each toy miniature, I heard myself talk to myself, and I hope you get this. I was a child. That was the only way I could start to use my communication skills —having a conversation with myself. I was happy, if truth be told. Even the sight of a yellow butterfly fluttering around the house made me happy. Even the chance to see “Wansapanataym” pleased me.

I restarted a video game whenever I thought I was about to lose. I slept with all my stuffed toys so none of them would get upset and offended. I’d put my arms inside my shirt and tell people I lost them. I enjoyed pushing all the buttons of my pen with six colors. I’d eat the chocolate-flavored “Stick-O” and pretend it was a cigarette. Then would pour Coca-Cola on a translucent glass and act as if I were taking shots. I used to swallow fruit seeds and get scared that a tree would grow in my tummy. I’d sing along with almost all Disney songs all day without getting tired.

Through the sunlit hours of childhood, I brought into being a kid’s imagination of life. I made words out of the dust that had settled on cars and other vehicles. I’d open and close the fridge door to watch its light go on and off. I’d play house, bahay-bahayan, imagining I had a house of my own where I cooked the family meals.

I found myself enjoying every minute, every hour of the day. It’s as if nothing mattered but the happiness I felt moving around, playing, and enjoying life. Besides, I am a little child. Oh, wait, I forgot. I once was a child.

Everything started to move in different directions, the seasons changed, people changed. And to my surprise, even I changed. Well, I grew up and there was nothing I could do to stop it. There was nothing I could do to stop my parents whenever they replaced the number they put on my birthday cake every year—10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16…  There was nothing I could do. Still, I felt a feeling of relief, now that I am big and the world is now within my reach.

My childhood swiftly slipped away like a balloon carried by the wind. There were no more toys, no more teddy bears. There were no more conversations between me and me, because now people would think it’s insane. There was no more play, no more adventures in the fields.

There was no more childhood fun, but days spent in school, where you learn things you did not know before, where X and Y are numbers when supposedly they are letters, where 1+1 becomes 2(x-48), where English is a subject and not a language, and where the world unfolds right before your eyes. Cool, isn’t it? Growing up, you find that there are people you call friends and there are other people who are better than friends—best friends. Food trips, sharing experiences, having conversations with real people and not toys—these are not bad at all.

Well, this departure from childhood, this thing called “growing up,” is fun, but there is a contrary face to it. Playing with toys and fooling around are no longer special; playing with apps on a cell phone has become the replacement. Society tells you to be who you are, and the next day you are judged. You are told to go and reach for your dreams, and then your dreams are destroyed.

So here comes the state of confusion and perplexity. And there’s this thing they call love, and how amazing it is, how deeply you search for someone who will love you, and how painful it is when they don’t feel the same.

Then this growing-up thing gets even worse. Your family expects more than what you can give. You’re pressured by getting a failing grade, and sometimes you think suicide is the only answer. You measure your beauty and your fame in the number of “likes” you get on Facebook. And then there’s the challenge of fitting in, of belonging. You try so hard to fit in a group that you’re forced to pretend to be somebody you’re not, and the friends with whom you’ve shared wonderful moments suddenly find new ones to hang out with. Then everything just feels painful and you’re sad all of a sudden.

Some things are just missed. I missed playing pretend when something went wrong. I missed how every Christmas, I waited for Santa to come and put candies in the Christmas socks. Sometimes I wished I could go back to the time when my biggest problems were just writing my whole name and tying my shoelaces. I longed for the time when every time I was sad, I could just run to my mother and everything would be all right. I missed the times when I didn’t have to worry about how I looked and how people would see me. I missed the times when the highest places on earth for me were my father’s shoulders, and those times when my bruises were only found on my knees and not on my heart.

I longed for the moments when “goodbye” just meant “see you later.” I missed those times when I believed that  every wish I whispered upon the stars would come true. I want those moments back.

Tsk, this growing-up thing turned out to be what I didn’t imagine—fun, but on the darker side, mentally and emotionally exhausting.  Now I realize I should have said yes when Peter Pan said, “Come with me to Neverland.” Now I completely understand why he never wanted to grow up.

At times I wish that I never asked time to run so fast, so that I can still take pleasure in being a kid. Now I have become who I said I would never be, and I can only remember myself enjoying what Peter Pan still enjoys until now. All I can do is look back. All that’s left to do is to describe and put into pictures the childhood I once experienced.

Those were the happy days. Those were the carefree moments. Now they have become stories.

Remember when we were just kids and we couldn’t wait to grow up? What were we thinking?

Carlisle Naudyn T. Caroro, 15, is a senior student at Siquijor Provincial Science High School.