There were only a few hours left. I knew that. And yet, I tried not to think of the existential clock's ticking, pushing me closer and closer into the unknown with every passing second. Midnight would be arriving soon, and with its arrival, the end of my childhood as I knew it.
My neighbors, who also happened to be my cousins (a very normal thing in San Antonio's Westside), had taken me to a park to play some basketball and ride our scooters. That part was a regular occurrence, our going to run around at the park. Usually, if I wasn't already hanging out at their house, my cousin, Papi Chuy, would tell his son, Brian—the one who grew up alongside me and is a few years younger—to go next door and grab us from my grandma's house. We'd then tag along for the adventure and change of scenery, either my brother and me or just myself. All of our muddy bikes or dinged-up Razor scooters would get loaded into their silver pickup truck and we'd drive the few blocks to the local park. What wasn't normal about this specific evening at the park, however, was the significance of the date.
It was July 11, the eve of my 13th birthday. The night before everything would change. My hands were clammy around my scooter's handlebars as we rode on the patchy sidewalk. I couldn't really tell if I was sweating from the setting summer sun or the little storm of mixed emotions raging inside my chest, every heartbeat a thunderclap. The only thing I was certain of was that ticking clock. All of a sudden, riding besides Brian, I started crying.
Eventually he noticed and we slowed down. "What's wrong?" Brian said.
"I just feel like it's all moving too fast. After today, I'm not going to be a kid anymore," I said, stepping off of the scooter. Ever the Cancer sign and deep-feeler, I was a nervous wreck about the upcoming chapter.
"You're going to be okay. We all have to grow up. It's just your turn," Brian said, probably.
Papi then called for us in the distance from under the canopied basketball court. I sniffled, wiped my cheeks.
"Race ya," Brian said, laughing.
We hopped back on our scooters and despite my worries, I pounded the pavement and kept moving forward. Eventually, I smiled and started laughing, too.
Eras Past, Present, and Yet To Come 📆
You know what? I really was okay. Am okay.
My turning 13 wasn't the end of the world. Sure, there were changes. Things started to look a little different. But as Greek philosopher Heraclitus is quoted as saying, "Change is the only constant in life." My 13-year-old self didn't think that deeply about it, but I've slowly come to learn that. In fact, I re-learn it seemingly every single day.
Because those teen years came and went. As did the other age-centric milestones we tend to attach so much to: 18, 21, 25. Those young and new adult seasons? They also came, went, and are going. Whether because of pop culture, hype, or our laws, despite my thinking, these ages were simply just stepping stones. A turn of the page. The next era.
Now here I am, writing this entry to you, exactly 17 years later from that night at the park. The clock's ticking, but now I'm aware that the clock will always be ticking, as it does for every single one of us. I'm on the precipice before 30 for only a few more hours. I could dread it, or I can be absolutely fucking thrilled. The choice is mine. Unlike little Cristian—who I adore for getting me to where I am now—I'm not going to create narratives about all that might go wrong, but envision and work towards all that might go right. Or at least I'm going to try not to. Because that's all we can do, right? Try.
After all, 30's simply the next part of my story. And the pen is in my hands. So, just like the Golden Line that Jenna shares in the gem of a film that is 13 Going on 30,
“
To being 30. I’ve decided it’s going to be totally awesome.
