2007 has been a year of… growth.

So many things have happened – predicatable and unpredictable. Moments – tiny moments, big moments, the ones in between, woven together to form the fabric of time.

In retrospect, I’m amazed at how I’ve managed to pull through all of it. I wasn’t half the person I am on the 7th of January, 2007.

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to live the whole of 2007 again. I won’t make it. LoL.

I am terribly proud of myself – and the scars I have to show for the metaphorical battles I’ve fought and sometimes crawled out bleeding, crying and scarred from.

Oh well. Shouldn’t be dwelling on the past.

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The 7th of January, 2008 is when I start officially growing up.

Yes, this is the day I start reminding myself that I do not have infinite youth to be squandered away anymore.

I don’t know la. This whole growing up thing sucks. Having to watch what I say – no wonder people stop blogging about what they really feel as they grow older. All I see are blogs of superficiality. Tell me – when have you let your emo self run free?

I don’t want that part of me to die – but it is a part of me I will have to slowly poison.

Maybe I have a twisted mentality – I find grown ups devoid of and almost incapable of raw, unadultered emotions. There isn’t any space left. Only space for bills, dates, appointments, paperwork, diplomacy. Emotions? Waste of time, waste of time. Ignore them, quash them, act like they don’t exist. More time, more space for more important stuff.

I’m afraid to say that if I let that part of myself suffocate, there won’t be much of me left at all.

The very thought of that shakes me enough to make me want to cry. It isn’t a very nice feeling at all.

I’ve never thought of growing up as much of a hassle before.

I don’t want to mute what I’m feeling, don’t want to have to watch what I say, don’t want to see the world in a duller shade than it actually is in. Don’t want to only blog about happy-clappy superficial stuff. Don’t want to have to ignore my emoness because it is ‘improper and childish’ and because people are freaked out by displays of undiluted emotional outbursts. Don’t want to pretend. Don’t want to have to realise that there are more important things than how I feel and sometimes I don’t get what I want, most of the time I don’t get anything at all.

Don’t want the heart to harden, no matter how much I seem to be looking forward to it. Don’t want to be jaded. Don’t want to be a doctor, already cold and unfeeling, because I’ve seen too much death and hopelessness.

Don’t want to lose the me that I am now.

Don’t want to do this alone – but not having any choice. There isn’t anybody here. Nobody to lean on, nobody else to put the blame on, nobody else to do the work. I guess that’s how it is. You learn swimming the fastest when you’re pushed into the middle of the ocean. Fighting for life. Sink or swim. Sink or swim.

Networking. Bullshit. Networking – the word sounds so informal and businesslike. Cutting ties from people, being an individual, keeping in touch with other people – only people that you might need in the future. No man is an island. No man is an island because men need to live off other men to survive.

You become more alone when you’re grown up. Nobody is ever really let in. You’re afraid to reveal who you really are. Afraid to appear weak. Survival of the fittest and you’ll do whatever you can to minimise your chance of falling prey. Pathetic. The older you are, the more cowardly and safe you become. What’s the point of taking any risks when you’re perfectly comfortable where you are now, eh?

I dare you to prove me wrong.

Sink or swim.

Sink or swim?

There is no choice.