I’ve always been a late bloomer.
I didn’t stop playing with my Bratz (don’t judge) until my freshman year of high school. I wasn’t into boys until way after all my friends had multiple boyfriends. I didn’t put on an ounce of makeup on my face until like tenth grade and it was just a touch of bronzer (why, past Mafe, why?).
Hell, I didn’t start drinking until mid-college. I mostly spent those first 2 years doing movie marathons with my friends and hosting board game nights in the common room. They were wild though. My friend Spencer almost flipped a table on me during a particularly intense game of Catan when I stole his longest road. Good times.
I didn’t even get a phone until I turned 15, which was incidentally also the year my parents finally let me go to the movies with my friends without parental supervision. (I will never let that go. I mean what could have possibly gone down at a showing of Harry Potter an the Goblet of Fire!?… on second thought, I don’t want to know.)
I didn’t even worry about dating or being forever alone with cats until my senior year of college.
I even took my stupid ass time starting this blog. I should have started sooner but I didn’t trust myself or my writing enough for that. It’s part of the process, I guess.
Also, to this day, I still marathon Disney movies and Disney Channel originals – High School Musical is my strawberry jam (I mean how can you resist all that FRIENDSHIP?!) and I recently watched Camp Rock for the first time and got weirdly obsessed with Demi Lovato. I belt out the Adventure Time theme song in the shower. I spend more than I should on toys and anime-related house ware. I read fan-fiction on the reg and I would rather build a LEGO TIE-fighter than go to the beach any day…
But in truth, I don’t begrudge any of that. I’ve always liked taking my time. I hate being rushed. And by hate, I mean HATE. Gets me all frazzled.
It has taken me a while to understand this fact about myself and be cool with it. But I still have moments when I don’t quite get it and wish I was speedier. Especially when I feel single AF or wish my eye shadow game was better.
(Side note: I’m totally a late person. I guess it fits the theme of my entire life and existence. I’m working on it though.)
Still, I was never one of those kids who couldn’t wait to grow up. I loved being a kid. The most I ever wished to be older was when I was 11, and even then I only wished to be 12. I haven’t wanted to be older that much ever again, not even when I was under 21. Damnnnnn. What even is my life?
Talking about 11, I feel like I’m 11 years old on the inside sometimes. That’s probably why my 5th graders and I got along so well. Those cute, saucy bastards. *Shout out to Seojin, Yoonha, Danbi, Gayeong, Joonyoung, Jinha, Sung Min, Dyne, Jiwon, Jiwoo, Dyne, Yujin and my entire 5-3 class.*
However, recently I’ve discovered I’m plagued by a new phenomenon. I’ve graduated from 11 year old child to full on 16 year old teen and all that adolescent angst I kept on tight lockdown during my actual teen years has finally caught up with me.
Thinking back, I was a great teen: super self-disciplined, got all my work done on time like the ridiculous overachiever I am, got spooked at the mention of drugs, hated partying and spent most of my Fridays playing Rock Band with my friend Masiel and drinking virgin piña coladas.
I thought I had survived all those chemical imbalances and teen rebel spirit, but now all that angst has come pouring out in a horrible mix of explosive anger, unexpected sobbing and all around chaos like being at a 4 year old’s birthday party after a sick, twist of fate reveals the rainbow piñata was actually filled with spaghetti and meatballs instead of candy.
And this Return of the Teen is accompanied by all the “I can’t evens,” “Oh my Gods” and “Ughs” possible, coupled with quick temper flares, constant “No one understands mes” and sporadic fights with my mom. (This is not new though. That’s how my mom and I have always expressed our love. We scream it out, then #HugItOut.)
Oh my God! I’m actually Riley from Inside Out. Makes sense! She’s 11!
I also want to cry all the time for no good reason. I was actually bawling yesterday while watching an episode of Brooklyn 9-9. BROOKLYN 9-9, for God’s sakes! I couldn’t take the friendship!
I’m like some strange adult-teen hybrid that has surfaced from the depths of the ocean like one of those kaijus from Pacific Rim to terrorize mankind.
Okay, maybe I’m being a bit dramatic, but you get the picture.
I’ve boiled it down to 5 possible explanations:
- I’m pregnant. No dice on this one unless it’s some form of immaculate conception or Jane the Virgin business. That would be hilarious. On second thought, no, no, no, NO! That would suck. Cue the pregnancy-themed nightmares. Wouldn’t be the first time.
- I was abducted by aliens and infected with extraterrestrial parasites designed to use the power of teen angst to destroy humanity. Alien pregnancy is also viable. Cue even more terrifying pregnancy nightmares.
- I have some form of plague that wants to Walking Dead the hell out of the Earth.
- I’m having sensorial flashbacks to a past life in which I was a vicious Viking warrior who lost his family to a neighboring clan and now is out for blood.
- I’ve actually gone insane as a result of eating too many bags of skittles while watching Courage the Cowardly Dog as a child. That show scarred me for life.
All very plausible options. Or maybe it’s a mixture of living back home with my parents, being unemployed and cruising on Tinder one too many times.
All I know is that I need to do some yoga, aromatherapy the hell out of my room, do pet therapy (it’s a real thing, google it!) and then actual human therapy, and get on that meditation train and meditate while listening to some of those random rain playlists on 8tracks.
In the meantime though, I’m going to eat some ice cream out of the tub while watching videos of dogs and cats being friends and cry some more.
P.S. I promise I’m not actually insane.