Childish

Indomitable eyes? Check.
Petulant mood? Check.
Scrawny face and arms crossed? Check.

Adulthood is okay, they said. It’ll be fun, they said.

That’s basically me at the moment. I dunno if I have bypassed Maslow’s third hierarchy and return to reclaim it but I can’t stand my own childishness.

The way that I sulked in my own cubicle while my colleagues were laughing their butts off is kinda alarming for me.

The way that I ignored some of them (or the way they ignored me/my presence) is wayyy not me.

And the way that I deal things? Totally surreal.

Normally I would just laugh it off then deny the fact that I feel isolated. But not today. The inner child in me stomps her feet, demanding attention – which I don’t like to admit. Heck, I’ve called myself a couple of names for a couple of times, but being childish is an alien concept.

I guess this so-called regression of mine stems from the moment I turned twenty. Since I’ve become more responsible than my siblings I’ve set aside the urges to be coddled for some time.

Until now.

Sometimes I wished that I could still run to my parents (particularly to my mom) and leave the world alone.

I know my incessant rants and being a brat resurface my childishness that threatened to crack my calm and collected facade is disturbing for me.

And now that I’m done blowing off some steam, I guess I’ll have to drown myself in books just to find my bearing.

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