Maria Reylan M. Garcia
18 years and a day ago at 5:10 in the afternoon inside a room that smelled nothing more but blood, sweat and alcohol, a shrill cry was heard and both the anxious obstetrician and the exhausted mother heaved a sigh of relief.A few minutes later, the man who couldn't stop pacing the distance outside the room's hallway, was informed tha the just became a father. On that very moment, a 3.6 kilogram toothless and salivating infant added another tally to the world's already increasing population. Years later, the same baby turned into a talkative toddler who loved Disney fairy tales and once mistook a blue crayon for a piece of French fries, fortunately the crayon was non-toxic. Several birthday cakes later, the toddler grew to be a pony-tailed grade-schooler who couldn't go home without borrowing Goosebumps from the library. Hormones rushed and a few years more the grade-schooler entered the storm of adolescence, had some competition and dealt with bright red pimples.
Soon enough, the adolescent turned legal and it has been a day since this young adult decided to breathe and started living.I'm now 18 years old, and the previous paragraph was the closest thing next to my autobiography. I finally reached the age of freedom, and of legality. 18 is an age looked forward to by agitated youth because some singles since birth are now allowed to have boyfriends, several get to drive their own cars whether second-hand or custom made and liberty-minded others are now unchained of the bondage of parental control. 18 is a highly anticipated age, more so to would-be ladies who give hotels and gown renting-shops a reason to stay in the
business.
18, without any doubt, is an age of privilege and autonomy.Yet, this statement might be lacking an important thought.True, now at 18 I can get drunk in night clubs and watch R-18 movie sand no one won't have the authority to scold me off. But, this isn't just the case. At 18, one may have the license, but alongside is the accountability that other 18 year olds and older have failed to realize. The duty tailing the right of suffrage makes you the instant person to be blamed whenever a lousy and good-for-nothing politician steps into office.
The accountability behind the superiority over the underage impels you to act always as their role model. The increasing set of expectations beneath the facade of freedom obligates you to become more mature and wiser in each decision. 18, without any doubt,is an age of liability and responsibility. Besides, once 18, you can now be put to jail for violating the law, no social worker will be rooting for you anymore.To those who will be, are and have been 18, there are two sides of a coin. Don't give this age as an excuse to disrespect your parents and disregard their reminders. You may be in the same boat as they are now, but they have been in this boat longer than you have, surviving through fiercer waves and currents that you did.
Don't abuse the privilege of this age to be immoral, you spent your childhood bombarded with values and grown in right conduct. It is a pity to giveaway a strong foundation in exchange for drowning yourselves in alcohol. Don't make this age as the justification for being reckless with your decisions, you may be becoming older but you aren't becoming mature.A lot have misinterpreted the age of 18 to be the prize of a less free childhood. In some ways, it might be rewarding since you get to make your own decisions. But these decisions are all the more subject to fiercer criticisms because the rest of society expects them to be more reasonable, more practical, more logical and more realistic.
When a child cries over not getting what he wants, it seems cute and pitiful.When an 18 year old or older shed tears over not getting what he wants, it appears dumb and weak.Adulthood, I believe isn't measured in numbers, so does maturity.There are many people I know who are 18 or even older who aren't mature and not worthy to be called as adults. They take the privilege of being grown up but leave behind the responsibilities.18 tells me that sooner I'll be faced with bigger and harder crossroads. Sometime soon I might be passing the nursing licensure exam and handle lives of patients risking my own license along the way. Sometime soon I might become a wife and a mother, rearing a family and carefully raising my children until they too reach 18.
Sometime soon I'll be swimming in the pool of real life that entails real sacrifices and risks, and that crying and tantrums aren't ways to settle them.It was 18 years and a day ago that I decided to cry when the obstetrician slapped my butt and live. I don't have any regrets, since there were special persons and events that honed reasons more than enough to keep on living.
It was a day ago that Reylan turned 18.
I hope everyone's okay with that.
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