Coming of Age

I often think about how I never really had my “coming of age” moment. It’s like I just woke up one morning as an adult, without any preparation at all. I never waved my teenage years goodbye, or had an epiphanic moment that summarises my adolescence and gently ushered me into adulthood. But then again, maybe I never really needed one. I like to believe that I was cursed with wisdom from an age when I didn’t need to be wise. I made good decisions, really good grades, and had no problem with anyone. I was a really good Christian rascal too, and even took on roles in the church and all of that. It all just makes me realize how awfully convenient my childhood was.

I think I really needed a “coming of age” moment. I needed a moment to resolve all my dissatisfactions with my youth before I started rapidly losing time. It feels like since I turned eighteen, my whole life became a sped-up movie. Years go by in a flash, and I’m left pleading with Father Time for more… time. More time for my vices. More time for my goals. More time for my family and friends. Sometimes I think of how nice it would be to just stay in today forever. No tomorrows. I want to stay long enough in a moment, so I can learn how to be part of it before the next one comes.

I, at least, deserved a “coming of age” moment though— just me and my really close friends, alone at a beach, watching the sunset. And then when it gets dark, I’d disclose to them of how I can’t see myself reaching forty or even my thirties.

“As in, you can’t imagine how it would be like? Or you just don’t think you’d get there?” Ogaga would likely ask. He’s always suspected me of being suicidal, and often questions certain things I say that may suggest the idea of me “off-ing” myself in the nearest future.

“Something just tells me that I won’t get there, you know? It’s just this weird gut feeling I have that I won’t grow old.” I’d reply.

“I don’t get. Like, you’d kill yourself, or what?” Praise would interject.

“Nah. Like I’d die of natural circumstances. I feel like an asteroid may randomly hit me one day. I can just feel it.”

“Guy, you are mad, I swear,” Praise would say as we all laugh at my obsession with being killed by an asteroid (I often mention dying by asteroid every now and then).

“Don’t worry, you’ll grow old. You’ll grow old in Jesus’ name. I’d like to see how your children will turn out — I can imagine how weird they’d be.” Esther would say.

“Well, I can’t.” I’d reply.

I’ve tried thinking about it all though — me being all grown up, with a family of my own. I tried, but I just can’t. It’s not that I don’t fancy the idea, because I actually do think it would be cool. I just can’t imagine myself living past my youth. And I wish I had the opportunity to say this to my friends at least once before we all became adults and stopped talking to each other like we used to.

No one prepares you for how time changes the nature of your friendships. After the university, Esther and Praise wasted no time before travelling abroad; searching for greener pastures. I still maintained contact with Esther for a while, of course. I was especially fond of Esther because she’s really smart and had always been quite outspoken about her feminism, so I kind of enjoyed conversations with her because it gave me a perspective I wouldn’t find anywhere else. But Praise didn’t even tell anyone about his intentions to move to a whole other country before he did, so it made the whole friendship thing taste a bit sour in my mouth once I found out he had gone abroad.

I and Esther stopped communicating so much once she had gotten properly settled down in the abroad. She found a job, made friends with the folks at work, and also made a bunch of school friends too. We still manage to have a chat every once in a while though. But I’m not the biggest fan of trans-atlantic communications through radio waves, so it feels like a chore sometimes. We just make do with sending memes to each other every so often, and having random long conversations at least twice a year.

It’s just the natural progression of things.

The truth is that ever since Ogaga passed away, Praise naturally started drifting away from the whole friend group thing. Ogaga was the one that brought us all together in secondary school. He was also Praise’s best friend. They were almost inseparable. I often envied the friendship they had, because they seemed so dependent on each other. They had been friends since they were about seven years old. Throughout their childhood, they often spent the holidays in each other’s homes, and even went on family trips together. Their parents were really close, so it was all so convenient.

Ogaga was a bit like me, but… better. We had similar interests, but it always felt like he was more informed on his interests than I was. He was also more social, so he knew more girls and had a proper social life that I envied. But he wasn’t just some empty-headed social butterfly — he had actual depth. He had read more books than me, had better taste in music, and had watched more movies. He introduced me to Nietzsche, and taught me the correct pronunciation of the name. He also recommended a lot of books and movies for me to watch. I wouldn’t be who I am today without him.

The day I got news of his death, I sank. I sank into new depths of estrangement from this world. It just didn’t look familiar anymore, and I concluded it to not be worth the time or effort. I didn’t become suicidal, I just didn’t feel like trying anymore. Ogaga was probably the only person that could tell the difference between when I was actually thinking of killing myself, and when I was just joking about it. His empathy gave him the ability to read minds.

I wished I had my “coming of age” moment with them. Then I’d tell them about how I don’t think I will live up to forty.

Then they’d ask, “what if you actually live to forty, and nothing happens to you?”

“Then I’d likely happen to me. I feel like it’s only a matter of time before I get really exhausted of all of this, you know?”

I wish time allowed me to tell them this, and all of the other things I wish I had said to each of them at some point.

I wish I had told Esther that she didn’t need to be strong all the time, and that there was nothing wrong with being vulnerable sometimes, especially with people who care about you. And I’d thank her for being someone that I could always talk to.

I wish I had told Praise that he didn’t need to hide who he really was. We all knew anyways. I would also tell him that I always thought he was kind of a douchebag, but it hurt when we stopped talking.

And then I’d tell Ogaga of how I always thought he was a bit too perfect, and I hated that. But his being perfect confirmed my suspicion that this world isn’t meant for perfect people like him, and that’s why God takes them away to be with him.

I guess I always anxious of tomorrow’s recurrence, because with every tomorrow, drew the today I always feared closer. But we are here now. And even though we didn’t have that “coming of age” moment like in the movies, I’m glad I eventually came of age with you.