Today, I spent I rather pleasant morning in my garden, fixing it up. Though I'd only been gone for a week and a half, the backyard hadn't really received a mow or a tidy since early August when I came back for the start of second semester, and although it had looked at least bearable at when I departed for mid-semester break, its strange growth spurt over my away time resulted in it looking almost jungle-like when I returned. So this morning saw the lawn subjected to the whirling blades of the mower, and the edges and tree borders attacked by vicious pair of trimmers, as well as other various weeding measures so that it now looks like someone lives here again. Placed in an apparent mood of housekeeping, I also got round to vacuuming the whole house, putting up some curtains, doing the washing, and then sat down, all complete by 11:30am, with a cup of cold juice to admire my handiwork and take a rest.
So what's with this random catalogue of domestic labours, one might ask? It doesn't sound particularly exciting, or anything to make a big deal over. It doesn't sound like something that should incite much thinking, not to mention writing about. And possibly most importantly, it doesn't sound like the typical agendum of an eighteen year old, fresh from trip back home and returned to university life. Thus I thought as I looked out over my little garden, cup in hand. It makes me seem like some middle aged person, possibly more elderly, potting around the house and garden fixing things up as though I have nothing better to do. And yet I really enjoyed it, had fun even, working along with my earphones plugged in, listening to my music. A sad life? Perhaps.
But the more I think about it, the more I think it's not just that. Maybe this is the thing. Maybe this is just how I am. After all, ever since I was quite little, people have been saying that I'm more matured than my age suggests. I hesitate to say more mature, because I know I can still do incredibly silly things and I have my moments of ridiculous naïvety, but I think it's safe to go for matureD. I would like to think that there are elements to me that make me not yet a typical middle-aged man, all settled down and anchored, but I'm definitely not a quintessential adolescent either. And though I don't think I have too much trouble with having fun with friends and stuff like that, it still goes without saying that I derive little joy from much of what denotes a modern day teenage/early adult life.
Because everything seems to point at the fact that I'm in the wrong age bracket. While most teenagers are sleeping late and waking late, I'm sleeping early and waking early. While most teenagers go for cheap beers and shots at pubs, I much more prefer a nice glass of Cabernet Merlot at home. While most teenagers want to mix and mingle and meet lots of new people, I just want a small close group of friends that I can talk to whenever about anything, and that I can always count on. While most teenagers go out into town at night, I'd rather sit at home with a book or a good TV show or some nice music and relax. While most teenager use clubbing and partying for socialising, I'd like to invite a couple of friends over and just talk about stuff, play something, watch something, enjoy each other's company. While most teenagers go in and out of relationships looking for the better person to be with, I just want to have someone I can give my heart to and stay with for the rest of my life. And I'm not trying to be judgemental - it's just that that seems to be what people our age do nowadays, and I just can't enjoy doing it.
Over the last few months, and probably helped a lot both by having a deep relationship and the rigours of having to manage a whole house, I've slowly come to realise how much I'm ready to be an adult already. Not just in the sense of age, but more what it entails. And this morning, it just really hit home. I can't wait to be out of Uni, but not because of work and assignments and exams and everything else that people tend to get fed up with when it comes to studying. I just can't wait to be in a time when I have a job that I go to regularly and enjoy, and have to work hard and efficiently; when I have a house that I can call home, in which I can live every day life with the household chores and paying all the bills on time as well as it being a place for relaxing; when I have my someone special that I can come home to, have a family with, and love with all my heart and will do for the rest of my life. It may seem scary to some, ludicrous to others, but I'm ready for that, and everything that comes with it.
Indubitably, it's a lot more simple just saying it than actually getting to it and having all that. And besides, there are still definitely things I'd like to do as a youth, things I'd like to see, places I'd like to go, dreams I'd like to fulfil. But at the same time, there are moments, such as today, when I just feel unbearably that I'm an older person trapped in a teenager's skin, and only ever partially compatible with everything that's going on around me. And maybe all my quirks, all my attitudes and all the idiosyncrasies of my character will one day have the worth that I wish they could now, but right now, they all but make me an ugly duckling of the teenage world. But there's nothing to be done except to wait the time out and take life as it comes. Meanwhile, I shall indulge the aspects that I can, and find my own enjoyment in them. And so I pick up my trimmers, and go to fix the edge of my driveway.
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