It's an acknowledged fact that as we get older, we are supposed to get wiser. We make mistakes. We learn how not to approach situations. We get better at picking ourselves up, brushing off the bruised pride and starting all over again. We become more intelligent. We learn to fight back. And when to keep quiet. When to say exactly what we feel. And when to tell a little white lie. We learn about who we can trust. And who we should steer well clear of. Who can hurt us. And who we should let in. When to fill our face with food. And when to force ourselves to the gym.
It's a journey. An emotional rollercoaster. And in the midst of it all, we sometimes lose who we are. Our energy and passion gets left behind. I realised this recently whilst I was sifting through some old poems I wrote and found this...
Paint the world with your words
Enrich it with your soul
Surrender what you have.
Pollute the grey of everyday with
All the colours of the rainbow
Breathe a cloud of warmth over the cold-hearted
And then declare this world truly wonderful.
Yes, it's naive. My sixteen year old self was oblivious to the way the world really works. But for a minute I wanted to be her again. I wanted that untainted perspective back. That blind passion and determination. I know she's still here somewhere. She's just buried under all the excess baggage we like to call 'getting older.' And it's ironic really because she was the wise one.
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