Comme Ci, Comme Ca

I feel like an overgrown baby. I will be 18 next week. I can drive and vote then. At 17 years and 360 days, I can’t drive. But on that 365^th day, I shall be grown up enough. I shall also be grown up enough to know who to vote for. Suddenly, I will be an adult. Suddenly, I will be able to draw money from the bank. Suddenly, people will value my opinion. Suddenly, I will not be ignored. Suddenly, I will be a lady. So what if on that day I am as much a kid as I can possibly be. So what if I still rely on Mom for my morning and evening cup of coffee. So what if I hold on to a silly green stuffed toy in bed. So what if I cry after episodes of Hey Arnold. So what if I’m stupid. At least I will be 18 and that is an important age to be.

What do my eyes say to you? Why do you think my nose is too big? Why do I look too fat or too thin, too tall or too short to you? Why is my smile so toothy? Why do my ears stick out like that? Why does my hair look limp to you? Why do my earrings not match? Why are my shoes not right? Why is my dress too tight? Why was the previous line so predictable? Why did it have to rhyme?

Too many ‘whys’ huh? There, now I’ll use some more. Why am I too dark or too fair? Why ugly, just alright or beautiful? Why do you care? Why do you have an opinion about me? Why must I not rely on my opinion? Why can’t I be as pretty as my Mom thinks I am? Why must what you think matter? Yet it is what you think that matters. What you see when you look at me is probably what the world sees. And that sucks, you know.