I'm eighteen. And starting to realize what being eighteen feels like.
I feel like this is the point I'd like to stop transitioning. Oh, I feel so old in my own immaturity.
Where my home is seldom completely tidy and clean, thanks to the unruly brats. Oh, and the unruly brats’ shrill sounds in the morning when I am sleeping, and the mornings I wake up without having the equivalent of a heart attack.
One of the little things I learn to love. My dull life, my simple life, is my life. I don’t want to live another person’s life, because then I wouldn’t have all these beautiful things that may seem petty to others, but is the subject of my imagination when I was in the seventh floor of Casa Subang looking outside the window to see so many signs of life, and still felt incomplete.
It feels like I never left home when I’m here, and to feel that someday I have to venture outside the confines of my comfort zone is melancholic enough.
I mean. I’m not going to live at my parents’ forever. The little horrors would grow up, and people die. My parents will die. And I will too.
That’s why I’m cherishing these things now, and let time do its magic.
After all. I'm trying to relinquish my adulthood of responsibilities and hold on to my diminishing carefree childhood. But man proposes, God disposes.
And because I know that Allah S.W.T. would take care of me, I know that I'll survive, even though sometimes it may feel like rock bottom.
P/S : I am mumbling and bored.
P/P/S : I got more than what I bargained for my IELTS. Alhamdulillah :). But my parents manage to see a loophole in it. Haha.
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