Cupo

Grace Mary Potts

Australia

My life is comprised of inconsistencies, daydreaming, procrastination techniques and occasionally, writing.

Message from Writer

I wouldn't quite call myself a novice in writing but as there is certainly room for improvement, I would very much appreciate any comment you can provide, particularly if it's the constructive kind.

Independence

August 13, 2015

PROMPT: The Unknown

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I do not know much about independence.
Surviving on your own.
Living by your own guidance.
Making your own decisions.
The notion of it is elusive and vague but for the understanding that it is the ideal that every person in my age group strives for. Being free to do what one wishes without waiting for an adult’s consent. Catching a train to the city and spending the day alone, wandering through the clamouring crowds, the noises and busy streets, with the act bearing no significance at all. Having a job. Earning money for yourself.
I can scarcely remember a time when I was not attached to one of my parents – it occurs to me that I have always been that small child, surgically attached to her mother’s leg out of timid insecurity and fear of being abandoned. I wouldn’t say that I fear growing up. Not at all. The idea of travel and university and life outside of high school thrills me to no end.
Independence on the other hand…
Scares me.
How I am I expected to wake myself up in the morning, without my mother there to drag me out of bed? How am I to learn how to use the washing machine and earn my own money and drive myself to University?
And there is, admittedly, a part of me - buried deep under mounting levels of stress and wariness - that knows some things just come with age. A few years from now these thoughts will mean little to me but for, perhaps, a momentary flicker of fondness for a time when I was more naïve. I might live on my own and walk through the city everyday with a Styrofoam cup clasped firmly in my hand, sipping coffee on the way to work or whichever course I'm taking. I'll be a published author and I won't be a child anymore. I’ll be able to write about people who work for a living or attend university or live on their own, without feeling certain that I’ll get it all wrong.
And it will, a few short years away from now, be wonderful. I’m sure.
 
Glorious even.
But for now…
Well I think I’d like to depend on my family for just a little while more.

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