Holidays

"Goodbye to you, my beloved holidays..."

These words are at the back of my mind and on the tip of my tongue right now. Unspoken words awaiting for their destined moment to become audible ones that I'd utter in a state of despair and lethargy. I might even sprinkle some sighs on it as decorative toppings to allow myself to indulge shamelessly in self-pity. Please don't label me a fag because it is traumatic to have the holidays pass you by ever so quickly.

I think I simply hate going back to school.

But do I really? Maybe not. Because I recall saying something along the line that the semester ends too quickly and that I'm dreading the impending holidays.

Oh dear. Have I become a confused soul? Maybe not. Because the real issue is not really about how quickly holidays come and go, or how I absolutely abhor the thought of the semester ending in a blink of an eye.

I think I'm just afraid of serving in the army.

But am I really? Maybe not. Because I was clearly considering whether I should enlist earlier and forgo polytechnic just so that I can finish it up quickly. Besides, what has a Pes C recruit gotta worry about? I guess the true essence of my worry is not about national service.

It's probably about fending for myself in the future, says me, and being a real adult about it.

But is it really the case? I don't quite believe so as I know it is of my deepest desire to get the hell out and live independently on my own. I honestly covet a peaceful life that is filled with serenity.

Then I guess it's probably my fear of growing old and frail, whimpers a small part of me. Well, while that may have some truth in itself, I am also reminded of the days I spent as a child trying, and failing in my feeble attempts, to be like an adult. There was once I even took my grandmother's IC and glued a passport sized photo of myself on her's. I had some serious issues of getting lost in my world of make believe.

Then another thought crept by, Then it must the fear every elderly person has - the fear of dying. And when that time comes, I'd probably wish I was a child again. And if I become a child once more, I'd wish that I was a toddler. And as a toddler, I'd yearn to be a teenager who would then look forward to be an adult. And as an adult...

A toddler I was,

and a secret wish I had.

To be that of a teen,

I coveted it so bad.

A teen I became,

and a secret desire I harboured.

To be that of an adult,

to rid me of the zits I attained.

A young adult I finally came to be,

freed from the shackles of pimples and scars,

imprisoned by filial piety.

But work has yet to be done,

in making myself a family.

A father I envisioned myself as,

a complete adult, with pride and glory.

Maybe more than that,

but nothing less for all the world to see.

Then the twilight years shall loom,

old and withered will I be,

a figure of starkness and gloom,

a picture of strange foreign familiarity.

And alas!

I will lay to die,

recounting my younger days.

To that will I heave a sigh

and wish myself back to then,

to when it had just began,

to the time I was a child,

to the time all I could do was wail or smile,

to the time I wish I was a toddler,

who wishes to be a teenager,

who wishes to be an adult,

who wishes to...

(I think I'm weird.)