You wil understand when you're an adult

You will understand when you’re an adult.

Regardless of how often we have been told that we would understand the mysterious everything when we reached adulthood, I doubt we ever really found the right line to cross, going from naivety to maturity. From vague memories and hazy wisps of whispers from the past, there were mentions of blood and pain. Some even mentioned swords and instruments, however, they were often shushed and our ears covered by an abashed mother.

All this seems a distant memory ago. If truth be told, it seems longer. The hinting of unending knowledge was many eras ago. The unexplained and mystifying world of adults was one drop of blood away. Stories, writings on walls and movies blurred out what we would all soon discover, keeping us excited, on edge and begging for more. We could almost taste it. We could almost touch it. We could, but we lacked what we needed.

Exposure.

Lack thereof made me unaware of how exposed adulthood is. Ironically enough, the lack of would be made up with excess.

Excess blood.

Excess pain.

Excess phallicism.

Every time we seemed closer to the unknown world of the grownups we would realise, we were nowhere near where we thought we were. We would take steps, one at a time, away from the mists of inexperience, thinking we would walk into a clearing full of life, light and wondrous things, only to step into nothing and be shrouded with uncertainty and fear. Unable to turn back, we journey on, trudging on the path to adulthood. We eagerly ran towards the taunting, turning our backs on the shield of the mist, and when we looked back, it was too far away to reach.

You will understand when you’re an adult.

Adulthood comes in many forms and has been celebrated differently. My first encounter of adulthood involved a lot of blood, pain and phallic instruments, or instrument. You would think that growing up and listening to those around you tease you about the excessive blood pain and “swords” would give you a hint, but like many others before and after me, it came as a something similar to a heart attack. The closed-eyed, half asleep stretch and roll over to snooze, for five minutes which would later turn to 30, ritual would be rudely disturbed. Eyes will shoot open and legs will fly out of bed, attempting to carry a zombie-like body towards the bathroom without inducing a coma. Upon stumbling to the destination, your head will instinctively turn back to see a trail of red and a loud shriek will erupt from your mouth, traditionally it’s a high F sharp, but recounts vary.

Every month, I am reminded of my first encounter of adulthood. The small giggles and passing mentions of blood, pain and phallicism was, and other tales of adulthood prove this fact to be indisputably true, an understatement. We were under the impression that there would be small droplets and maybe a few sprays. Every month, that theory is proven wrong with the waking up on what was white sheets, to crimson, blood red sheets that would rival Sylvia Plath’s. We were under the impression that the pain would be a small pinch or a dull throbbing. Instead, we were graced with the presence of a stabbing sensation that caused many brave soldiers to fall to their knees. We were under the impression that anything phallic in shape was one to giggle and shush playfully about. Fear of TSS from uncomfortable phallic instruments is not something to giggle and shush playfully about – it should be treated with immediate medical attention. Adulthood is no small, laughing matter. Period.

Unfortunately, my first period was not the giant wall I had to climb to enter the restricted land of grownups. I thought growing up and becoming an adult was a one step process. All we had to do was find the right key to unlock the right door, and as soon as we achieved that, we were mature adults. There were a few things that made us realise that a period was not the key or the door. It was not a onetime flow of agony and apart from wanting to curl up and watch multiple movies starring Matthew McConaughey and Ryan Gosling, I did not feel any different. I felt as adult-like as I did 2 weeks ago when I irresponsibly pulled an all-nighter watching Game of Thrones and eating enough ice-cream to make up for the centuries of lactose intolerant.

You will understand when you’re an adult.

I have two slightly similar, yet oddly different encounters with my other attempts at reaching adulthood. Much like the other act of adulthood, which only women have the pleasure of experiencing; it has an excessive amount of blood, penile shapes and pain. Swords come with sword holders or sheaths. The image of the sword also often induces thoughts of blood and pain. In Latin, the direct translation is “sword holder” or “sheath”.

Often, maturity has been symbolised through the act of stabbing your sword into an innocent and fresh, young creature and drawing blood. Being stabbed by a sword like, phallic object for the first time and bleeding or stabbing your sword like, phallic object and drawing blood for the first time is seen as a step to adulthood.

There is fear.

There is uncertainty.

There is blood.

There is pain.

Losing your virginity has been glorified from the dawn of time to modern day society as the one definite sign that you’re no longer a child, but a fully fledged adult. The fact that vagina is literally a “sword holder” signifies how normal it is for men to be able to penetrate us, because we are holders of their sword. After the first time, we supposedly have this glow and a look that signals to the rest of the world, “I am an adult”. Yet, when I obtained that glow, I did not receive applause, congratulations, or a large banner that welcomed me to being an adult. Whispers, looks and fingers stabbed me harder than any sword. When my counterpart obtained the glow, he got pats on the backs, handshakes and a large banner, “Congratulations on becoming a man”. I was told, once again, that I would answer when I became an adult.

Two failed attempts of reaching adulthood.

Two failed attempts of reaching adulthood, which led to repetition.

I blamed my inability to become a woman on the excessive exposure that was presented to me with the whispers of blood, pain and some mentions swords and instruments. My want for adulthood and my search for it only took me further and further away. I was too far ahead to go back and too lost to find the right key to the door that opened to the mysterious land of adults.

Adults are just obsolete children in every adult there dwells the child that was, and in every child there lies the adult that will be. Adults are the damnation of the present, and children become adults as surely as adults become worm food. Adults are the death of hope.

When I look at my children now, I hope to lessen the exposure I had as a child. Maybe that way, they’ll be more successful in reaching adulthood. Or better yet, maybe they will never go searching for the path that leads them to maturity. With ever mention of blood, pain, periods, virginity, I shush the voices with an embarrassed giggle and cover their ears. I know you don’t understand this now and you might blame me when I’m gone, but just know I did it for the best.

You will understand when you’re an adult.