Mirror Magazine

Mirror Magazine

Transition time
By Dilini Algama
I’m going to be twenty. Apparently this has to scare me. One day I’m a boisterous teenager whose purpose in life is to deafen the neighbours with the radio on full blast while finishing the delectable delights in the fridge and making a mess of my room.
But the next day it’s all supposed to change forever.

I’m to become a demure young lady who’ll wear sober clothing, clasp her hands in front when walking, (accompanied by her father or her brothers of course, never alone) etc. From that fateful day onwards I am not supposed to wince when those cheeky little boys next door call me “Aunty!”

All this is thanks to the well-meaning aunts who take me aside and graciously offer advice. I’m lucky enough to claim kinship to a variety of aunts, but they generally have the same thing to say.

“Darling (to soften the blow), your birthday is next week, isn’t it? (Audible sigh follows). Now you must change your habits a little, you know, you’re not a teenager anymore.”
“You should quieten down a bit. You have a nice little brother (a.k.a., the bothersome 17-year-old hooligan). You mustn’t squabble with him. You are a young lady who should busy herself around the house. You have such a lot of things to think about. Before long... you’ll... f... find your p... p... partner in life...” (The latter being said in a voice choking with emotion.)

Well, I can stand this, even the “settling down” bit. Although I don’t look forward to such homilies, for the sake of my parents who’ll be blamed if I answer with a rude face I control myself. I certainly can’t promise to make a habit of this, but I haven’t faltered, yet.

But what really sends the adrenalin tearing through my veins is that hackneyed line. “Now you have left your childhood behind.” Back in school, they gave us stern lectures on why we shouldn’t waste our precious childhood and teenage years as they are the best years of our lives.

I know what it is like to jump up and down in rain puddles with my brother. The taste of midnight snacks from the fridge remains fresh in my mind. I long for the childish innocence with which I knelt down to pray when my father was bitten by a snake. I am overcome with unrestrained hysteria as I recall the practical jokes we played in the A/Level class.

So now that I’ve had all the fun and laughter I’m ‘allotted’, I’m supposed to bundle it all up, lock it in a dark closet and throw away the key. To be honest, I’m a little apprehensive about my coming birthday, but I’m certainly not going to call it quits and change overnight into a different ‘me’ who will repeat the “Now you are a grown up...” pep talk to my nieces in another twenty years.

At least my parents are quite happy to be the parents of their twenty-year-old daughter. My mother finds me responsible enough to cook dinner without blowing up the whole kitchen. My father finds it very pleasant to have a daughter who can iron his shirts without burning them into ashy residue. My summing up? Growing up does not mean growing old. If you know how to grow up you’ll never grow old.

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