Growing up is awfuller than all the awful things that ever were

Everyone around seems to be doing grown-up things, they've got lands, status and people under their portfolio. Everyday's conversation cannot be divorced from the buzz of stocks, shares, properties, renovations and/or babies. You've gotta be on the tracks to the league of the 125,000 millionaire households (and counting) in SG or of making smart-ass babies. If not both.

At this age, everyone around are grown-up. They are... ermm... THERE, there doing the adult-y things. Everyone's building their great empires, and they are doing it as if most naturally. It is instinctive for the adults, I guess. Soon, they will be sipping wine and waltzing on their high thrones, looking at the next horizon.


So here I stand, on my bald little turf, pretending to be, but feeling oddly ill-adjusted to that instinct. I have my secret cravings for Ribena to replace the tannic wine in the wine glass I've been shoved. I have no gazing tower so I tip-toe to see what might lie beyond. I guess I must have not explored, discovered or played enough. I have acquired none of the grown-ups' instinct. I must have skipped some steps in life unwittingly.

Beneath my feets are fine sand whilst my peers stand atop their skyscrapers. In my head, there's just wondering if I will ever even see a lawn blossom. I am (still!) standing on my little brown patch hoping for some pretty daffodils to sprout under my feet one day.


Part of me actually find some occassional sense of zen in my laurel, bare though it may be. The dreadful thing: I am also of full consciousness that time's running out on me.

But geez, what do I do? Growing up is awful.