As I write this, my parents are at a dinner party. My brother is in his room, doing whatever it is that younger brothers do when they’re not depressed about being as perfect a paragon of humanity as their older counterpart. Having finished all the work I need to today, I now have about an hour and a half of freedom to do what I want. I could be reading, I could be watching a TV show, but instead, I’m writing a blog post. The problem is, I’m not entirely sure what to blog about. Those of you who know me well might be able to imagine me, sprawled across my bed with the laptop perching precariously atop a paperback. I’m frowning as I contemplate the screen before me, and in the background a Fall Out Boy song plays for the umpteenth time.
I imagine them sitting down to dinner, and immediately complimenting the massive spread of dishes that their host has undoubtedly prepared. Rather than helping themselves, they instead pass each platter around at least 17 times to ensure that every soul within a ten meter radius has had every opportunity to sample every dish. Then, only then, do they ladle the food down onto their own plates, making sure to immediately pass the platter on afterwards. The hosts are then inundated with compliments about the quality of the food and finally, this elaborate ritual is over.
It’s lucky, though, that the meal is one at home and not outside. That’s not to say meals outside are any less delicious, but I say this instead due to a deep and pathological dislike of what happens at the end of the meal. As the waiter presents the bill to the group, I can predict with near-certainty that the adults will get into a passive argument about who is awarded the dubious honour of paying the bill as the waiter gets progressively more embarrassed and turns his thoughts to table 12. It’s with bemusement that I envision this scenario, knowing that as of now, I can’t even imagine having a similar argument with my friends.
The slightly sobering reality, though, is that in all likelihood, one day in the future, that’s exactly what I’ll be doing. Whether or not I like it, time will continue its relentless march forward and I will one day find myself sitting on a table in a restaurant, gently blocking an acquaintance from grabbing the bill and insisting that I do the honours. It probably (hopefully) won’t be any time soon, but slowly, it’s getting nearer and one day, I’ll pause for a moment of self-reflection and realise that I’ve become the very thing I thought I never would.
Insisting on paying the bills is one of those things which is quintessentially adult. Whether you’re six or sixteen, there are always things that you want to step back from and leave to someone more qualified.
The issue is that I don’t even feel remotely ready of being the person who’s more qualified. The concepts of paying taxes, worrying about housing loans and whatever else it is that adults do are entirely foreign to me and I see nothing in my future that’s going to change that.
Unless, at the age of 18, I’m to suddenly undergo an apotheosis to adulthood and all of this knowledge will suddenly install itself into me, the future looks to be rather uncertain.
When you’re a kid, you look up to teachers and parents as these omnipotent deities who know all and can manage all, and while this image is somewhat detracted from as you grow older, you never quite get over that impression that when it comes to the adult stuff, you’ll never be ready. And yet somehow, one day, you will be.
How on earth does that work?
Abzonnian Ramblings 
You learn different bits of knowledge at a time, I guess, from different sources (teachers, mentors, parents). Other times, you just have to learn by going through it yourself.
That’s the general consensus I’ve noticed from the brief conversations I’ve had about this with adults, which is slightly comforting! I get the feeling that adults aren’t necessarily wiser about what goes on in the world, but they’re simply better at managing their confusion.
That, and a healthy dose of childhood awe probably doesn’t tarnish their image much either 🙂
Some adults are wise; others aren’t. But I’m of the opinion that everybody needs to have the wisdom to stop and appreciate life’s more magical events once in a while.
Hi, I just wanted to tell you that I really enjoyed going through your blog. The way you write is actually brilliant; it’s subtle, succinct and still lyrical. A friend of mine had told me about your blog, and I’m really glad that she did; your writing makes sense in a very different, but beautiful, way.
Thanks,
A Fan 🙂
Hi Bibliophiliac!
Ooooh, I have a secret admirer! How exciting! On a more genuine note, thank you so much for your kind words, they mean a lot to me and it’s thinks like this that incentivise me to keep blogging. I try to make my posts as good as they can be and hope that you continue to read them. Thank your friend for me!
Brahm
As I write this, I’m supposed to be studying. I’m afraid, Mr. Capoor, that neither Greek Drama nor Marxist rebels mocking war hold much of my fancy anymore.
Your writing is what holds my predilection.
The way you take the most prosaic aspects of life and turn it into something that is so much more. The way you used something as simple as paying a bill – something we generally overlook – into something that made me feel just a smidgen afraid of what is to come.
But you sure are an intriguing one, aren’t you? The confidence and that subtle cynicism you seem to exude makes you very interesting indeed. It is not very often I find a fellow teenager with an old soul like yours, and it truly is a pleasure reading your writing.
It may be quite possible that I might just have a tiny bit of a crush on you.
Dear Escape Artist,
I apologise in advance for any inconvenience that your reduced studying may cause you, but I am comforted in the knowledge that at least you spent that time doing something you seem to have enjoyed.
This blog is, to me, nothing but an outlet for the things I think of but don’t remember to say out loud. To know that someone out there appreciates these thoughts as much as I enjoy the process of their conception is a rare joy and you have given me just that. I shall cherish what you have told me and strive to maintain this.
So thank you from this old soul, Ms. Artist. Perhaps we should be friends.
Brahm