When do adults realize that they are actually broken? Is it before or after they destroy the sparkling light of their so-called beloved children? Do you remember your childhood? Do you remember when you wanted to be an astronaut, or a fireman, or a doctor? Did you want to be a policeman, not because your father beat your mother or because a random stranger shot up your school, but because you loved seeing the local heroes in their dashing uniforms speeding past in those bright blue and red lights?
What happened to those dreams? What happened to that sparkling light? Should all our children have their hopes and dreams dashed with the first taxes they must pay, with the first death of their friend, or with the first rape from that creepy male family member? Once our parents or guardians (and, if you have them), siblings, school bullies, neighbourhood paedos and extended acquaintances have chewed us up and spat us out, at what point do you wake up, and realize that you have become an adult?
Suddenly, you’re 30 and sitting in a train car going nowhere. Those dreams you clung on to so eagerly in your childhood are whispers in the past, and you’ve convinced yourself that you have other priorities now: a job that you hate, perhaps even a relationship with someone who doesn’t really want you, but will make do until someone better comes along, a grotty room to live close to that job that is utterly meaningless and a waste of time. Hunger, gnawing at your gut and an empty kitchen because you can’t find the willpower to go shopping after your long day staring into a computer questioning your life choices.
How did you get here? After everything you’ve done and said and been through, how did you get here, in this dingy flat, in this city, in this stagnant job, clinging onto the security of living independently from your parents, because at least it means that you can kill yourself without them being in the next room.
When do adults realize that they are broken, or must you break in order to become an adult? Are we are all just jars of jam that fell down from life? Our joy and hope and love oozes and trickles from the cracks until we are so empty and disappointed we will latch onto whomever is nearest and most willing, so that we can replenish our sense of value and self-worth, and in so doing suck them dry. Are we adults all just parasites, leeching off of the hopes and dreams of our children, waiting for that day when they too, realize that in the end, nothing ever mattered to begin with.