Peter Pan

I remember reading this book, the real one, by  J. M. Barrie when I was 10 years old. Its thicker than the Disney picture book version as it is a novel (durr). I don't know or I can't quite say whether it had a profound impact on me, but I think about every so often. It's embedded as a part of me.

Sometimes, I find myself coinciding, agreeing as it were with Peter Pan, I never want to grow up. 

I want to be young and childish and foolish forever. I want to make and be able to learn from all of my mistakes without the meticulous judgement from every friend, neighbour, teacher, family member an so forth. 

It's so carefree and joyous when you are ten years old. Very few people care, or care to remember what you wear, you talk to everyone, no segregation, very little worrying about boys, giggling all the time and the constant affirmation that you are YOU. You are unique. Everyone is different and this attitude makes the world such a loving and accepting place.

Now, I'll be starting university soon (inshallah, fingers crossed) and the fact that I have little growing up to do from this point is setting in slowly. What was all excitement and exhilaration only a few weeks ago, has now turned to bitter disappointment, sadness and this undeniable feeling of anxiousness. I feel worried, about what choices to make.

How do I know they are the right ones?

What if I regret them?

Is it better to do what you want or listen to what they tell you?

All I know is, I don't want to grow up.