written by my dearest enemy, Jen Namis. The original post is in her (now defunct) multiply account. This will always be one of my favorite coming-of-age essays/rants. Haha. :)
Twenty is the new thirteen
Whoever they were probably haven't reached their early twenties yet, or have slept through the entire ordeal and have literally missed half their life. (Considering, of course, that they have such short life-spans, or that they have slept through more than just their twenties) Anyway, back to my battle cry...
Screw those bastards who said thirteen was the awkward stage!
Whatever makes thirteen so awkward? The pre-adolescent break-outs? The hormonal changes? The "starting to notice the opposite sex in a more than friendly kind of way" stage? The blooming rebelliousness? The growth spurt? (Which, by the way, was something that I practically missed out on. Much to my chagrin.)
If these are the things that make 13 so freakin' awkward, then I should have committed myself to a lifetime of this "awkwardness" and refuse to blow a candle more than thirteen every year. Who knows, if I stayed thirteen long enough, maybe God would bless me with a four-inch miraculous growth spurt overnight! Hahaha... I wish!
The discomforts of being thirteen pales by comparison to every heart-breaking, -stopping, -shattering, -bursting, -wrenching, -beating, -aching, -tearing, -smashing heartless moments that come after that doggone phase. Let’s just say that if being 13 is like going to class naked, then being 20 is like going everywhere naked, with your skin glowing the brightest shade of orange just so everyone who’s at least 20 feet away can instantly recognize that it’s you walking naked around town. Hmmm… Come to think of it, that’s actually not awkward. It’s AWFUL! So, just how much worse can things get after the 13th year of thy genesis?
Remember the hormonal changes you use as an excuse for those days they call you an assh*le? Well, grab the opportunity while you still can! A few more years from that and you can’t ever use the “hormonal imbalance” slip when people smack you in the head, shout at you in front of a crowd, and ask you (in a not-so-nice sort of way), “What the EFFF is the matter with you?! Grow up!” And with those two last words, you finally realize that you actually are too old to look like you’re still undergoing any dramatic physical and hormonal changes that would merit you the right to use such alibi.
And then there’s the “I’m starting to notice the opposite sex in a more than friendly kind of way” stage… Well, good! The point here is this: you notice. You JUST notice. There’s no harm in that. When you grow wiser (I refuse to say “older”), believe me, you wish you could go back to the time when you can notice certain things and not have any dilemmas about what to do about these things you’re noticing.
Then there’s the blooming rebelliousness… When you’re in a state of teenage angst, this sounds like a pretty good way of airing your opinions to the world. But we (the world) hope that someday you’ll grow out of it because part of growing up is learning how to express your thoughts in a more civilized manner (say, blogging for example… hahahaha!).
Hence, when we (the world) see that you’re already too friggin’ old to be wearing eyeliners, piercing every imaginable body part, and turning the radio volume up so you can let Simple Plan do the rest of your raving for you, we (the neighbors who are tired of hearing that you’re not “Perfect”) expect you to act like the cultured person you’re supposed to be and settle your issues in a refined manner. So, if you’re obviously too old to be categorized under “angst-ridden teenager”, we frankly don’t give a crap whether you’re being a rebel or not.
Need I say more about the growth spurt that only those younger than me can have the chance to experience? Yes, I need to! Heck!!! Growth spurts are so NOT awkward!!! People who say that are ungrateful wretches! And having aired out my disappointments let me move on to a more serious note.
I remembered what my mom said when I talked to her about why I was really, really upset the other week.
She just told me to be strong. If I couldn't handle something like that, then I’m not ready for the real world. She told me never to be afraid of failures and disappointments. I should learn to live with them because when the time comes when I have to fend for myself, I’m sure to face more than the challenges I’m facing now. She told me that I had to learn these things because, in life, we have no choice but to move forward.
The awkward stage is not the one where you are assaulted by such trivial matters as mood swings, zits, unrequited affection, and growth spurts (or the lack of it). The real awkward stage is the one where you have to decide whether you’re ready to take on the real world, or you’re just too scared to leave the comfort of the world you've created. It‘s the one where you have to make up your mind about getting out there and affirming the person you think you are, or staying in your comfort zone, content to believe that you are who you think you are without really putting it to the test.
The real awkward stage is the one where you have to slowly move on from crying over a failed exam to crying over the plight of the world. You get to care less about what to wear the next day, and you get to care more about how to treasure every moment left of your life. Because in the end, all that really matters is adding life to your years, and not inches to your height.
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