They say people change over time. Honestly, who doesn’t? My high school crush Molly let herself go and became a hulking mountain when I saw her again in 4 years, and my mother, who used to be “the miss” at the church, no longer possesses her seductive smile that used to sucker in so many lonely men into buying her expensive gifts. But it’s only natural, right? Nothing is permanent in this world and everything comes to an end. Although, my mom saying that I used to be such a sweet boy whenever I complain about my situation is probably because I’m her son. She’s going to think of me as a lovely boy no matter how old I become.
I’m probably no exception to the equation though. I used to have dreams about how I would be insanely rich so that I could buy everything in this world, whatever I want, whenever I want. I used to promise my mother that one day I will make her fly her own private jet. Of course, it never happened. Reality is like a bitch who always maintain that snarky tone and slaps me every time I speak of my dream, like my ex used to be. Now I’m just an average Joe who mostly complains about my life and just trying to live day by day.
As I entered a middle school, I had my first actual examination that tested me for how well I actually understood and remembered the materials from class. It was no longer asking me for obvious stuffs, like who became president after James Madison. Assignments no longer guaranteed A+’s just because I competently done them. It actually became a competition between my peer students. And I also learned that no matter what I do, I can never beat that nerdy Asian kid who seemed to do nothing but studying in his free time.
In high school, I learned that you cannot just magically win love over. It was not like my mother, who absolutely adored me for no matter what for just being her son, and it was not like my divorced aunt Gracie, who was bit creepy and shallow, but simply treasured me for being a only nephew who visited her regularly. Aunt Gracie used to bake my favorite snack, chocolate chip fudge brownie, for me, which my mom always told me to eat only one. But like every kind aunt and grandma, she always packed few of the large chunks in zip lock bags and secretly handed it to me when my mother was not around. My mom probably knew, because I remember that whenever we visited my aunt, I used to skip dinner and get sick the next day for eating so much of those sweet and rich brownies. But earning same degree of love from complete stranger was so much more difficult than I could have ever imagined. At least that’s what I thought after Molly stood me up so that she could go have couple shots of vodka with David, who, like all jocks, was complete douchebag.
-Will it continue(?)