Slippers and Feet

"As the game progressed, I found out that neither one of us were an adult or a kid. The boundary between childhood and adulthood has been breached, somewhat intertwined. Our hearts were one with the little monsters we played with. I realized that my age and my happy childhood memories are not parallel to each other."

When I was fourteen years old, I had a temporary perception inside my head that college students were taller, smarter and more mature. That’s why whenever senior BS Education students from a certain university go to our school for their practice teaching, I had high regard for each of them. The same goes with all other college students, too.

But when I became a college student myself, and very recently just surpassed my teenage years, I have realized that I’m no mature nor any grown up wannabe. I have realized that I still have a lot to learn; that I still need to find out more not just about myself but the people around me. Most of us, if not all, still need a little tweaking to mature. And we sometimes wonder what it feels like to be a kid once more. Oh, sure you do!

On a one cold midnight last December at the moistened grassy grounds of the freedom park, when everyone was deeply asleep because they have an early morning trip back home.  I and my college student friends decided to do something to determine if any of the exceptional skills we had in games we played during our childhood years remain. The games of Shakay, Dakpanay and Dodge Ball were on the list.

So, there and there we played the games as if we were pupils in elementary who were very oblivious of the things around us; we ignored the passersby as if they didn’t exist, wiping the sweat with our own shirts, while being barefooted on the slippery green grounds. It was hilarious. It was a night a college student could never imagine happening.

But that wasn’t the last.  On the very Christmas day, I played with an 18-year old college friend a game that was supposed to be my favorite, a game where I hailed myself champion, kayoko or kayokok. There were only two of us who were adults and the rest were a bunch of kids.

As the game progressed, I found out that neither one of us were an adult or a kid. The boundary between childhood and adulthood has been breached, somewhat intertwined. Our hearts were one with the little monsters we played with. I realized that my age and my happy childhood memories are not parallel to each other. That even at the age of twenty, you can still be a kid whenever you want to. You can pick up a fight when someone messes with you. You can dream of Santa Claus, Doraemon, and fire away Eugene’s ray gun. You can shout and yell at the topmost floor of a building. And of course, you can secretly keep a puppy love of your own and be happy about it.

There is nothing wrong in dreaming or thinking of being a kid once more. And there’s nothing wrong about expecting maturity from ourselves either. You just need to live with the two because it is not all of a sudden that maturity will crop up. It takes time, and sooner or later, in a moment that you are least expecting, maturity will show in the future decisions you will make

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What I’m saying is, go to the freedom park. Get your friends. Wear a loose shirt. Take off your slippers and run like a kid who just recently been freed from the grasp of his parents.

Note: This article was published at my regular column space at The NORSUnian, the Negros Oriental State University Weekly Student Publication (NORSU).