I remember what it meant to be five. Five meant riding a bike without training wheels. Five meant going to kindergarten in the fall. Five meant the start of memories that would stand the tests of time unlike those that came before. Five meant aging while still free from a real understanding time.
I remember what thirteen meant too. Thirteen was different. The coming of teenage years was marked by puberty, awkwardness, and most of all, the sense of a voice, a voice that finally carried the potential to be listened to.
On the surface, I knew what it meant to grow older. I was able to comprehend the passage of time unlike at five, but with so much life left to live, birthdays came with excitement rather than fear.
I wanted to turn thirteen. I wanted to grow up. But I don't think I realized at the time that thirteen meant the end of true adolescence, thirteen meant a small taste of a future that would come to be so confusing.
Photo by: Tori Carroll
I remember what eighteen meant clearest of all. Eighteen was harder. Eighteen meant graduating. Eighteen meant moving on from the life I had known since birth. Eighteen was uncomfortable but nonetheless distinct. Distinguished by the predictable happenings of the age, though the transition was scary, it was easy to understand. I didn't want to turn eighteen; the passing of time was no longer romanticized in my mind.
It was at this point that I wanted to hit pause the most. So comfortable in the person I had become, so happy with the niche in which I fit, the coming and going of eighteen meant mourning the loss of the person I once was, a person that I would never again get the chance to be.
I don't know what twenty means. I don't know where I am. As my heart reaches for an unattainable past and my brain looks towards an uncertain future, my soul has gotten lost in the present. All I know is I don't feel twenty. Age has become such a foreign concept, for I am labeled by a number I don't even understand.
Photo by: Tori Carroll
I think twenty comes with a lot of expectations, expectations of responsibility, stability, and certainty. The truth is I have none of these things. Instead, I have the constant internal conflict between my youth and adulthood. Some nights I go to bed with my teddy bear and others I fall asleep to the breathing of a boy I don't even know, let alone love.
But no matter the circumstance of my slumber, every morning I wake up new. I feel as though I am a different version of myself every time I look in the mirror, thus begging the question, who am I? Who am I becoming?
Twenty has made it hard for me to understand the love I feel. I can no longer pinpoint if the sadness in my heart comes from the absence of those no longer in my life or from the realization that the memories we made together are just that: memories.
Do I miss you or do I miss the times we shared?
Am I holding on because I love the soul you possess or because I am so desperate to salvage the life we lived together some time long ago? Maybe it's both. Honestly, I think it changes from day to day; the nostalgia, however, remains constant.
Photo by: Tori Carroll
Nostalgia is something I struggle with often. Iv. I miss the Abercrombie tees. I miss the thrill of sneaking out with liquor stolen from behind my parents' bar. Most recently, I miss right now. I miss the present life I am not able to live because it is overshadowed by thoughts of the past and fears of the future. I the miss moments I am experiencing before they have even gone, for I know how fleeting these times can be. So often before we even have the chance to appreciate the most defining times, life changes in ways that make them impossible to recreate. Perhaps this is what it means to be twenty. Perhaps twenty is defined by the nostalgia of now.
Twenty tastes like yesterday while reeking of tomorrow. Twenty is the now I am still struggling to understand.
Because all I know is I don't feel twenty, I just feel different.
Tori Carroll
