Reaching the shelves

Growing up seems so tough, to enter the stage of life where you could be anything, you are required to be eligible, to qualify the level of people who no longer remember their teen. You are required to balance everything, from the falling tears to the falling grades, from the rising stress to the rising emotional instability. You have friends who have decided their whole life out and you have no idea where you stand. You also have friends who are out there living their life and you have lived nothing of it. Love is blooming by your side, love is walking by in your neighborhood, but you have nothing but a poster in your room which defines love for you. You know nothing about so many things, yet you are only keen on learning about atomic theory. Your ambience is filled with doubt, doubts about yourself, doubts on who you really are. How could this be the first step of something I wanted to be? Wasn’t it about reaching the shelf, wasn’t it about eating chocolates, wasn’t it about ruling the remote, wasn’t it about reading all the novels, when did it become this? When did I start looking forward to sleepless nights? When did I start looking forward to mood swings? When did I ever start looking for glabellar lines? Why do I not remember any of this? 

Was this all I wanted to be, to fit in the box of people who are exactly the same yet different.

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