The grains of youth slipping through the sieve
Why taking it easy in my adolescence is a good plan
“You only live one life — make the most of it!”
It’s always there lurking in the feed of my godforsaken Pinterest — quotes in big blocky lettering with a stolen backdrop off Tumblr pinned under a “get up and get moving!” folder by some user. Indeed, I like to reiterate that my youthful years do have momentum — I don’t gawk in idle silence every day watching my youth ebb down the drain, thank you very much.
Rooted to my squeaky swivel chair, playing back-to-back rounds of “Gun Mayhem” with my back hunched in the same outwardly position for six hours — that sums up my youth. I could always pull the “I was raised like this” crutch but truth be told, I can’t formulate any kind of sensible excuse — I can’t find myself stepping out of the vicinity of my house and doing something outdoors. When I try, there’s a tug in my mind telling me to turn a three sixty and slump back into my swivel chair.
I don’t know why, but I cower from all means of social interaction in my free time and hole up in my stuffy room playing my 20th round of “Bomb It.”
Don’t get me wrong, I’m obnoxiously rambunctious during brunch and in between classes; I drift between the lines of an introvert and an extrovert — a quiet loudmouth. I, by no means, am a social outcast as you would presume, as I have an ample amount of friends. But hanging out with them outside of class is always out of the question. I just can’t bring myself to step out of my wormhole, that inescapable comfort zone I wade in. The truth is, the only person I’m the most comfortable around in the entire world is myself. And yet, I still thirst for social attention.
When second semester comes about, riddled with breaks and days off, I find myself thrown into a void of paranoia. Being alone is stifling after a few days when I have weeks of free time available to myself amidst the comfortability.
I crave social attention, yet push it away when it presents itself to me outside of class. I’ve turned down numerous hang out requests, articulating that I’m studying for thermochemistry or I have “plans,” when I’m really just firing missiles at a tank on my phone.
The panic seeps in — am I wasting my youth? Should I “get up and get moving” like Pinterest says? I know the reason for pushing away social interaction, this must be the reason: I’m not doing enough extracurriculars to have so much time thrown into my hands! And the conventional MVHS student cry of despair tumbles from my lips — I’m not going to get into a good college because of that! Maybe that’s why my grains of youth are slipping through the sieve — my paranoia gets to my head and my thoughts are jumbled in a perpetual ramble.
When all this bundle of time is presented to me, it makes me think that if I don’t live my “best life” now, will I ever? Because these youthful years, these reckoned blissful years of recklessness and rebellion, are not meant to be spent incessantly on a virtual gun firing rampage, so they say.
Last week was spring break and I went four days without any real life social interaction. Four days of studying, essay writing and gaming. I blame it on my myself and my inhibition to “enjoy life to the fullest” like Pinterest recites. I blame MVHS for inundating me with reading four literature books in the span of a month and a half. I blame my closed-in habits on my intellect — if I were better at programming, I wouldn’t have to spend two hours on a program that makes a toy ball change colors upon a click. Maybe that’s why I’m always planted on my swivel chair; I’m so used to being cooped up in my dwelling flooded with schoolwork that I don’t know what it’s like to do something that normal teenagers do. Or maybe it’s the s-word that’s riddled in MVHS culture: stress. That’s it — stress! Stress is what’s hindering me from my youthful legacy! So it’s not exactly my fault that I’m wasting my life away: it’s the school’s!
I wish. That’s just me pinning the blame on something else when all pointed fingers are directed at me. The age-old question presents itself: how do I make life more meaningful so that by the time I’m eighty years old I will be content with my life?
Alone in my room once again, I’ve stumbled upon another Pinterest quote and it’s made quite the impression on my wearisome lifestyle:
“You will be amazed at how things magically fall into place when you let go of the illusion of control.” - Maryam Hasnaa
This got me thinking. This forsaken “illusion of control” is my paranoia — my restless thoughts seeping into my monotonous life screaming, “Do something with your life! Get off your computer and do something you’ll remember!”
Therefore, I’ve decided that I’ll let things fall into place, as Hasnaa dictates. The change I’ve been waiting for, the action in my life will all come in time — I just need to wait. My youth will become meaningful and will resonate with me in a matter of time; it’s the waiting game.
This paranoia complex of mine harbors into an unhealthy relationship with myself. I’ve decided that I won’t do what society dictates or what the “norm” is — I’ll keep things going at my pace. I need to be comfortable in my own skin and habits, and the first step is loosening the strains between me and my paranoia.
So I will “get up and get moving” when fate throws a twinge of momentum in my dull life — change doesn’t happen overnight. I can still be rowdy with my friends at school and quiet with myself at home, planted on my swivel chair. That kind of balance in my life is perfectly okay. And by then, the eighty-year-old me hopefully won’t convulse over me pouring my youth down the drain. In the meantime, I’ll resume my 21st round of “Bomb It,” with a less heavy heart in my unpopped, tranquil bubble.