Its been a long time. Mappings took some time off to medidate and do other such things to find peace. Did Mappings find peace, you ask? Maybe. But peace never really lasts does it?
A lot has happened. Im 18. Not much has changed being 18. I thought Id wake up feeling different. Grown up, perhaps. I woke up with a hangover. Feeling groggy and like I had too much teeth. Do you ever feel that way? I had also fallen asleep on wrapping paper. Crinkly.
I looked out of my window, and thought. Whats different? Im an adult. But what have I not done, that adults DO? Maybe this journey towards adulthood will show me. Ive completed my First Year of college. Now thats something grown up. My finals were terrible. Coffee, Diet Coke and Pringles is not a diet that should be tried soon. Far from having too much teeth. Follow the diet, you’ll end up with none. But I persevered, threw papers and books across the room, even had moments where i sucked my pencil and defiantly procastinated, refusing to study. I told myself to order a large pizza, take a long shower and watch a movie. but then the demon would always come back whispering "top 3 ranking, and youre going to throw it away? stupid stupid little girl". And i would sigh. and return to my Pringles and Diet Coke, grudgingly extracting the pencil from my mouth. back to my 18 year old self. i had hoped for a miraculous change in personality. the way i look, think, act, dress. but i dress differently everyday – the ethnic artist, the hipie flower child, the fashion diva with pointy shoes. ill always have a little of that tantrum throwing child in me. ill always be moody and ill always think too much. maturity? hmm. i remember to pay my rent and assignment deadlines without being told. pah. maturity is a relative term.
i had visualized my 18 year old self differently. i certainly didnt imagine looking the way i do now -unmanicured nails, baggy pj’s and my hair tied in this weird "not a ponytail, not a bun, with weird scraggly bits thing". actually, the only time i imagined my 18th birthday, the milestone was with F – and i had imagined waking up, being in love and it being over a year and being independent and wonderful. like i said, i woke up with a hangover and on crinkly paper. alone to the extent that my beautiful parents flew over just so that i could be a part of someone. and trust me, its better being a part of the two most wonderful people on the planet than being part of a "The". But thats cynicism. so dont listen to me. Ah, F. I often tell myself that Mappings should really stop talking about F. But F remains an enigma. Neither a closed chapter, neither an open book. The first person i thought of when i woke up 18 after my parents was F. And I called him – and I let it ring 18 times, before I hung up. What was I expecting, did I just want to hear his voice, did I want to say something something something…? It was futile holding my breath. He didnt pick up and he called back only 2 days later. Disappointing relief? Or just disappointment and a broken heart that hasnt fully healed? His present was like a gorgeous oldtime Hollywood movie star, with brunette curls and furs – beautiful and cold. One of the more beautiful things I own – yet where was the feeling, the emotion, the personal smudgy fingerprint. I held it, I touched it and I couldnt hear the questions, the pensive pondering that i could hear in all the other presents -"what would be the perfect 18th present, what would she want, how well do i know her to know?" When I put it on – i felt like it. beautiful and cold. Disappointing.
But one thing my 18 self has realised – is that somethings are best left unsaid. That hearts arent meant to be worn on your sleeve but where Gray’s Anatomy states the heart should be. That reality is a good place to live in. Its no utopia, but heck – its home. When I was younger, Id gaze at the stars for answers. I still do – but then I draw the curtains. Because the answers should come from ME and from what I know and from my gut. Not from dreams of a forever, of a possibility, regardless of how beautiful it may be. I realise its futile to stare at the stars and see things that arent there. Its better to hope for the best, cross your fingers, wear your favourite pair of shoes and walk out the doors, facing another day, taking another joy-ride, kissing the sky and caressing the wind – before the brakes slam and you wake up to another day. Another joy-ride, more hopes and disappointments within an 18 self.