First of all, no that title is not a typo, trust me, I don’t plan on writing about lobsters any time soon. Truth be told, I have never had lobster, even though I live by the coast. Lobsters are endangered this far north, so we’re not allowed to fish for them. Now, enough about lobsters, before I break my vow to not write about them in the same post as I made said vow. (If you’re a lobster, or a close friend of a lobster, I do apologise. I have nothing personally against you, and I promise that I am not lobsterfobic.)
Liebster is a German word, and according to Google, it means dearest. In my mother tongue, it means kjæreste, which is also the word for a boyfriend/girlfriend. By now, you might be wondering where I’m going with this, and what’s with all the talk of lobsters and German words?
Well, I’ve been going through a hard time lately, as some of you might have guessed, I recently lost my grandmother. To top this off, I didn’t do as well on one of the exams I just took, (there’s a long story behind that, I might do a rant about it sometime in the future) and I had a long, hard talk with my parents about it. But, in the middle of this, Nocturnefirefay happened. Now, I haven’t had the required time to stalk them properly (yet), but I will. She nominated me for the Liebster award.
This meant a lot to me, to know that someone is not only reading my posts, but she is taking the time to reflect upon them, and she enjoys them. Someone thinks that what I have to say is worth ‘listening’ to, and I have a voice.
To change the topic a little bit, I have a question for you all; If Peter Pan showed up in your bedroom, offering to take you with him to Neverland; would you go?
-I honestly don’t know if I would. On one hand, I have this dream, the dream of living in a little cottage and reading poetry while I’m brewing coffee or a witch’s potion. On the other hand, the thought of growing up, the fact that at the age of 22, I am growing up, and I can’t go back, it scares me more than I can possibly express. It’s probably the thing I’m most scared of, and it’s happening whether I want it to or not.
Suddenly, I’m supposed to figure everything out on my own, pay my own bills and taxes, pay rent, cook food, earn money, deal with official forms and documents, get an education… There’s just so much things to worry about, so much I have to keep track on, so much to do, it’s driving me insane. I feel like I don’t have a grip on it at all, like my life is some foggy substance that’s slipping out between my fingers no matter how hard I try to hold on to it. and I’m failing at everything. And in the middle of all of this, my parents seems to have suddenly decided I’m old enough to be on my own, and they’re kicking me out of the nest permanently, and the safety net is gone.
So I have to spread my wings and fly, or I’ll crash. But flying is hard when you know where you want to go, but not exactly how to get there, and there’s this strong wind called “parents” that’s blowing in the wrong direction.
How easy wouldn’t it be, to go back to being a child again? To go with Peter Pan to Neverland, and forget about your parents? Don’t get me wrong, I love my parents, and I know they just want what’s best for me, but we don’t have the same impression of what’s best for me.
Parents have such a strong influence on you, you desperately want their approval, at the same time as you want to be yourself. So why can’t they be happy for us, and accept us as who we are? I think there’s some time-rift, or a dimensional shift between parents and their children. They live in the same world, but not in the same dimension, so they don’t see things the same way. It’s just impossible for parents to understand their children, just as it’s probably impossible for us to understand our parents.
After thinking about it, and discussing it with myself, I think I have come to the conclusion that if the bond is to be broken, then it needs to happen on both sides. If my parents wants to kick me out of the nest (which, with my fear of growing up, might be good for me, or I’d never fly on my own), then they don’t get to make decisions for me any more. They don’t get to tell me what to do, and they certainly don’t get to be insulted and protest when I confront them about pressuring me into making the decision they want me to make.
But still… If Peter Pan was to show up… I’d go with him.