I Was A Stupid Kid. I Always Wanted To Be An Adult.

Now I am an adult, and I don’t want to be one anymore.

There was a time in my life when I wanted to be an adult. I desperately wanted to be one. That was the zeitgeist of my very early years-to be an adult.

I would look at my mom and want to be like her. I remember seeing her always busy - waking us up, cooking, feeding us, setting the table ready for the innumerable guests at home, taking my brother to school, taking me to school and walking us back, helping me with my lessons and many such tasks that kept her running all day. At least she was free to be busy on her own. So I thought.

As an adult, she chose to be busy and she chose her responsibilities. I would always want to choose my responsibilities. To be spontaneous.

I always wanted her life. I wanted to be an adult.

I looked at my dad and figured out he had an easy life. He would leave home in the morning, come back at night, have dinner and sleep. I noticed the hurried look on his face a number of times, but adults had the choice to look hurried. So I thought.

I loved his free adult life. I wanted to be an adult.

I would look at my uncle and want to have his life. He was free to go anywhere at any goddamn time. On special events, my uncle would spend entire nights out with his friends only to return in the mornings and tell me stories of where they went, what they did, how far off they drove. I could only listen with rapt attention and ask him ‘You were out the whole night?’ ‘Yes,’ he would reply, his eyes equally big as mine! I so desperately wanted that fervent excitement, that action in his life.

I wanted his life. I wanted an adult life.

There was this mysterious element in these grown-up people that made them adults. I always wondered what that element was, and where I could source it from. Unfortunately, I never got the name of the element from my chemistry books later that made adults ‘adults,’ that made them have the freedom to do things kids were not allowed to do, that made them go to places I could only imagine as an innocent child, that made them handle money, that made them talk of the ‘government.’

I didn’t know what the ‘government’ was but the term raised its head every time my parents chatted with our neighbors. Not able to take the mystery anymore, I remember asking my mom ‘Ma, what is government?’ to which she replied it was a group of people making laws and running the country.

I didn’t understand where the country was running. I thought I could run when I was an adult.

I always knew grown-ups had a kind of superpower with which they could do anything. They could eat what they wanted, they could go out whenever they wanted, they could watch television whenever they wanted. They could use staplers and scissors and knives!

I wanted that life carte blanche! I wanted my dad’s life, my mom’s life, my uncle’s life.

Essentially, they had a life my puerile mind only dreamed of and waited for - a surreal life of permanent happiness. That surreal life was very different from my life as a kid-a restricted life of routined tasks, and a hell lot of such tasks.

As a kid, I had a lot to do. I had to wake up, brush, go to school, eat food on time, sleep. Adults didn’t have to do any of this (except for brushing). They could go without sleep. They could go without food. They didn’t have to go to school. There was no life in being a kid. Once again, I wanted to be them.

Finally, there was this one day when I became an adult. I took up a job. I left home. I could choose what I wanted to do, where I wanted to go to, I could choose my hurries, my responsibilities!

I was an adult! I screamed to myself. I looked at the night sky hoping it would rip apart hearing my ecstatic screams. Sadly enough, it didn’t. It didn’t seem to bothered at all that I had finally become what I always wanted to become.

I looked at the mirror one night and smirked at myself with an air of pride, ‘Hey, you are a grown-up now. You are on your own.’

Yes, I was on my own.

I was on my own to look after myself when I fell sick.

I was on my own to ensure that I had enough money to last me at least one whole month.

I was on my own to make my own food!

I was on my own to wash my clothes.

I was on my own to do my dishes!

I was on my own to have to go to work everyday.

I was on my own to work for eight hours at office, and another four at home.

I was on my own to take care of myself when I went out.

Suddenly, I did not want to be an adult any more. This was not what the adults in my home did, right? Was I a wrong adult?

As a kid, I never had to think of what to eat. I never had to wash my clothes. I did not do my dishes. I did not have to think of paying my bills.

Bills! Where did they come from suddenly? Did my parents ever pay bills? I never heard of them when I was dreaming of being an adult!

All I had was a life free from cares, a life free of responsibilities, a life free from hurries, a life free from bills, a life to enjoy and relish.

Alas, I never understood the tenacity with which my mom ran around the entire day finishing tasks she probably would have chosen not to take on. With the eyes of a seven year old, I could never see this tenacity. I could never see the tired mornings she would have without a proper five hours of sleep. I never heard the silent pangs of her pain.

My tiny ears never heard the silent alarms that my dad heard which made him leave home early morning.

My mind wandered in places my uncle went, but never realized that he would take a break of only few days in an entire year to go out with his friends. The rest of his year would be spent working 15 hours a day!

All I had was a dazzle in my eye about the magnetism of adult life. Adult. That very word was charming for me. It teased me and made me romanticise about life only a seven year old could dream of - a life of a happy pony, carefree, prancing, cheerful, and free!

Only later did I realize this sharp dichotomy between the ebullient dreams of a child and the real life of a grown-up. I never understood the amusing eccentricities of a child’s mind. Life had finally crept upon me and tricked me.

However, it was too late to go back. We don’t get that option, do we?

How ironical it is now that my five-year old wants to be an adult. 
All I tell him is ‘slow down buddy.’

Sadly enough, he does not get me.

Usually you can find me writing humor and satire. Only on Sundays, I am more reflective and contemplative about life.

Ok, that was a joke. No, I mean, seriously! If you’ve liked this story, and if this reminds you of your childhood when you wanted to be an adult, do clap.

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