Conflicted

Conflicted

It saddens me to see kids act like adults. It reminds me of the days I was a teenager and I really wanted to grow up. Often I lied about my age, and I even remember lying to my friends that I already had my periods at 11 just to look more mature than I really was.
I remember when my dad picked me up late on my last day of highschool, I felt that he didn’t get it. I was about to go ‘out there’ and he was keeping me behind the school gates while almost all my friends were few hours ahead of me in being adults. I figured my journey of learning was over, the rest was to be as easy as slaying and making it. When I met my former school mates in the streets, all we wanted to know is how far we were in being adults. ‘Are you working? What course are you taking? Have you moved out of your parents home? Do you have a boyfriend? This are just but a few of our talks. Looking back, I feel like someone should have told me what I know now. Not that I would have listened, but maybe it would have slowed the pace of growing up.
Sometimes I forget am an adult, often I look around in search of the adult that should be taking care of me. Does that make sense? Well, I do.

It’s conflicting, because now there are responsibilities, and the things that I wished for when I was a child start to become real, though not as interesting and as passionate as I had imagined them to be. I did not understand that it was not cool to work under pressure, or to have that nosy colleague who feels the need to give false updates on people’s life. I thought it would be easy and affordable to wear six inch branded stilettos and drive a Lamborghini while dressed in a slick suite and a fancy Bob cut hair style. The movies spoilt it for me.
Nothing would have prepared me for break ups and make ups. No one would have told me best to save my money coz a job in my country is never a guarantee. Unless of course you work for the government. I hear its easy to leave a cardigan at the desk as a sign of your presence then go be a child till its home time. The cheque will still be there at end month, it could even be a bigger cheque if you can write up a tender and supply something creative but imaginary. It’s possible to have a friendly ghost there. But that’s not the majority of us, we watched telly and the dream was sold to us, thanks to Cinderella and lady bird tales. To me this were goals, they were supposed to be easy and I was supposed to have them by now.
Had I been a child for an extra minute, had I known what I know, I would have made more effort to afford that expensive car. I would have resisted to keep promises to my folks, which I now have to keep as I work towards the promises I have kept for myself. I cannot afford to be broke for a minute, yet with my little income, I have to survive and survive others with me.
Speaking of folks, could the universe explain to me how its possible to have twelve kids and still manage to do life? You eat, you sleep, you work and you are paid peanuts. Your first daughter wants an expensive skirt for a date and you afford it while school fees is still paid.
Your last child falls sick and no insurance would pay for the hospital bills, he still gets treated. The landlord wants his rent and you pay on time, and yet you still have some room in your payslip to take out a loan for that ka plot in Kamulu. All this while you are sending money home for the community and giving each of your child attention.
Its noble, but its difficult. Even the richest man would wish for some rest, I bet he wishes for people to stop calling him for cash and just check up on him. I bet the priest would like to skip mass and just lie in bed for a while. I bet we all wish money was not involved and that we were all kids with no care in the world.
We all wanted to be adults, and here we are; being adults.
Meanwhile, faking it till I make it.

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