The End of an Era.

• Non-Fiction

								
As I look around, everything seems to be changing. The familiar streets that used to be filled with laughter and play now feel different, quieter. I miss the magic of childhood, where every day was a new opportunity for laughter, friendship, and pure fun. Every rustle of the leaves and every beam of sunlight filtering through the trees held the promise of a new adventure. Back then, my imagination knew no bounds, I could transform the playground into a pirate ship. Oh, and my childhood friendships. There’s something so pure and genuine about childhood friendships. Such bonds displayed commitment, kindness, and the strength of connection, but they are now only memories. Whether it was a game of tag, hide-and-seek or building forts, there was always an unmistakable feeling of delight and excitement. I failed to appreciate how special those moments were until they disappeared. I'm not sure when or how it happened, but life suddenly became genuinely miserable. I wish someone had warned me about the difficult transition that comes with growing older: the ending of an era and the start of a new, harsh one. Suddenly, beauty for me means nothing more than fitting into society's standards. My happiness now depends entirely on the validation and affection I receive from others. My vivid imagination that I once had is now replaced with demoralizing thoughts. Life used to be so easy, I used to wonder why the moon was following me. I wake up Monday morning, staring at the ceiling, listening to the aggravating sound of my alarm that is repeatedly going off. I lay there wishing I hadn’t woken up today. I finally roll over and switch my alarm off. I check my notifications and as per usual Ugh, who am I kidding. I get up, proceed to the bathroom, and apply toothpaste on my toothbrush. I firmly rub the bristles of the toothbrush against my teeth as I stare at the sight in the mirror. I can’t even recognize myself, all I see is imperfections. My hyperpigmentation, my crooked nose, my uneven eyebrows, my short eyelashes, my unsymmetrical face, I could go on for ages. I finish brushing my teeth, open my drawers, and apply layers upon layers of makeup to my face. I look in the mirror again, and I feel nice for a second until I notice my flaws again. I take a step back from the mirror, filled with despair for myself. I throw on a crop top and sweatpants. I wear sweatpants because I can’t stand the sight of my hip dips, but I also wear a crop top because I crave attention. I just want to fit in. It’s a mix of wanting to fit in and wanting to stand out, all tangled in my emotions. I walk towards school and hear a sequence of chuckles as I pass by. I used to laugh with them, but now they only laugh at me. I feel fat, so I put a hoodie over my body. I sit down in math, take out my binder and draw my hood over my head. When math began to include letters, life started to get worse. When I began to understand the world, my life began to spiral downward. In truth, I believe the world was always cruel, but I was too young to recognize it. I glance at Mr. Peterson as he walks around and returns tests. His brown, mysterious eyes glare at me as he strolls towards my table. He sets my test on the table, carrying the weight of my disappointment. A 56. I feel my heart sink and my stomach churn. I really tried my best this time, but once again it wasn’t enough. It’s never enough. When I was younger, everyone told me that if I just tried my hardest, I could achieve anything. Yet now even when I'm giving it my all, it still feels like life is just slipping through my fingers. They lied to me. It was all just fake promises. I should’ve made them pinky swear, you can never break a pinky promise. “You’ll get it next time dear” Mr. Peterson says. His smile fades as he looks at me, he doesn’t look disappointed. Instead, he kneels down. I feel his grimy fingers edging up my right leg. I get goosebumps. “You can always come see me for extra help” he whispers, and walks away. The way he touches me is a haunting echo of how I used to touch my toys. However, instead of the joyful innocence I once felt, it’s replaced with a chilling sense of fear. I constantly crave the feeling of validation but not from him. He’s old enough to be my father. An intense, gut-wrenching feeling of disgust courses through my body. I grab my bag and leave. I hear his voice, like a sharp edge cutting through the air, urging me back to my seat. His unsettling intensity sends a shiver down my spine. Before, the only shivers I got were from drinking slushies. This is a different kind of shiver. It runs deep, straight to the core of my body. I get up and leave anyway. On my way home, I walk past the playground. I decide to sit on the swings and attempt to relive the joy and excitement I once felt. I sit, pushing myself higher and higher, but no matter how fast I move, I cannot escape.
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