This post first appeared on moNSTerblog.
Man Child summoned me into the bedroom and pointed at the dressing table. My perfume and pressed powder were on the table and I’d forgotten to pack them. It’s the second time I managed to forget something. Opened my suitcase again, that cheap thing that my Dad got from some travel fair. I was practically prying it open with my nails. After about 10 minutes of struggling with that plastic piece of junk, I groaned (Man Child said it sounded more like a scream) and started sobbing.
I don’t want to go back, I cried to him. Buried my face in his chest and sobbed uncontrollably. He gave me a tight hug and told me that it’s okay. I cried more, because it didn’t feel okay at all. I was secretly hoping that he would give me a choice of quitting my job and offer me shelter. It’s wishful thinking, of course as none of my loved ones would tolerate such behaviour.
Soon, I managed to get hold of myself. Calmed myself down, stopped the tears and continued my struggle with the damned suitcase. It popped open with ease. I stuffed the perfume and pressed powder into available space with a heavy heart. And then, I was ready to make a move.
Man Child almost broke his thumb while moving my suitcase to his car. It bent backwards while he was pulling the extendable handle out (read: stay away from cheap suitcases). It’s very unlike Man Child to have that kind of things happen to him, how do I put it…he’s usually a very alert person.
I resisted the urge to ask him, but I could’t. Did I distress you? No, he said.
‘Are you sure? I asked again. You can tell me’.
‘Maybe a little, I totally understand what you’re going through’.
‘Thanks. You know my stuff are usually there and it really didn’t occur to me to have to pack them. They belong there, you know. The empty dressing table just did it for me. I went apecrazed, sorry’.
‘Don’t worry about it. You have to accept that it’s part of growing up’, he consoled me.
As a good friend put it, growing old is mandatory but growing up is optional. I don’t want to grow up, I hate it. But accepting it, I suppose it’s tolerable for now.