In Which I Am Basically a Giant 5-Year-Old

In my mind, I am eternally stuck at the age of seventeen.

I'm not sure why, exactly. I'm not the same person I was then--not really. But for whatever reason, I always have to pause for a moment before I answer the question, "How old are you?" I'm constantly forgetting that I'm no longer a teenager; I am, in fact, an adult. (Although whether I'm a fully-functioning adult is still a topic that's up for debate.)

I forget how old my sisters are, too--they're still eight and thirteen in my mind, instead of eleven and (nearly) sixteen. I also refuse to believe that 2007 was 8 yeras ago, and that the Spongebob Squarepants movie is over ten years old. (And now, there's another one! Where has the time gone?)

I have this thing against time, I think. I would rather sit in my room and watch the Suite Life of Zack and Cody on repeat rather than face the fact that my friends are turning 21 all around me. I'd rather watch Disney movies than do Real Life Adult Things, like go to work and pay bills. (Ew.)

Maybe I'm not really 17, actually. I'm more like 5. One giant 5-year-old, who enjoys watching Phineas and Ferb and still occasionally dabbles in the online world of Neopets, like it's still 2005. (Okay, so maybe I'm closer to 9. But you get the idea.)

But isn't there something almost liberating about embracing your inner child? Aren't I, an adult, allowed to believe in love at first sight, in happy endings prevailing, in the joy and satisfaction of watching cartoon on an early Saturday morning? I want to freely chase after the ice cream truck on a hot summer afternoon, and go to Disney World so many times that the staff know me by name. I want to operate under the belief that everything will work out in the end, no matter how ridiculous or flaw-induced the plan may be.

I think Adult Life is constantly in danger of being dull. There's too much stress in being realistic, in making smart decisions, in being a Mature and Responsible Adult. There is absolutely nothing wrong with that.

It's just boring.

Does it have to be one or the other? Do I have to choose between being a productive member of society and singing Disney duets with myself when no one is home? Do I have to choose between expecting the worst and having just the tiiiiiniest bit of faith that, somehow, everything will work out?

Yeah, I saw Frozen in theatres 6 times. (At least. I may or may not have lost count.) I invest more of my time watching cartoons than I do watching the sitcoms that grown-ups watch. I got too excited meeting Tiana and Naveen in the Magic Kingdom, and I still like to pretend that I'm a Sailor Scout.

The world is clogged with enough negativity. I think it needs a little touch of childhood joy.


Until later,

- Justyne

The Story (WFMAD Day 6)

This month, I'm participating in a writing challenge called "Write Fifteen Minutes a Day", or WFMAD. To complete this challenge, I will be taking fifteen minutes or more (probably more) to post a new blog post every day in September. If you're tuning in late and would like to catch up, you can find the first blog post here, or skim through the links in the archive to the right.



If I've made anything clear in the six months (yes, six months) since I started this blog, it's that I love, love, love writing. But it occurred to me, earlier today, that I have yet to really explain why I love it so much.

Well, you're about to find out.

Have you ever found a book, or a tv show, or a movie, or virtually any kind of story that had you so sucked in that you weren't even aware of the real world moving around you? Have you ever finished some epic tale, and moved through your life for the following few days as though you were in a dream?

I'll admit, I probably allow myself to get too emotionally invested in these stories. After the Castle season 5 finale back in May, I was literally rolling on the floor because I could not handle the stuff that went down in that episode.

Put simply, I am a fangirl. (Hence why I have a Tumblr account. Tumblr is a hub for fangirls.)

But the most interesting part of all of this is that, despite the fact that these characters, these stories, these events are completely fictional, we can still allow ourselves to care. We allow ourselves to be absorbed into these imagined worlds and universes, to root for the people, to become so overwhelmed with happiness and sadness and anger and love that isn't actually ours to experience.

But that's the thing. It is ours.

I'll be blunt, sometimes reality really sucks. There are bills to pay, classes to attend, a job to excel in...we're expected to balance so many different aspects of our lives that sometimes all we want to do is just crawl in bed and stay there. Life is hard. I won't deny that.

But these stories...they're our escape. Our escape into another reality; sometimes even a more preferred one. They help influence us, and change our lives.

If you're like me, you're sure to have that one book that you've read a million times. That book that you recommend to every single person you encounter; the book that you've memorized just about every word of, and never get tired of cracking it open, just one more time. Sharing that book with others--seeing their faces as they, too, fall in love with the characters--is one of the best feelings in the world.

And for me, writing is like that feeling--only ten times better.

For a period of time, no matter how short, I get to immerse myself into a whole other world of my imagination. I get to BECOME my character; their friends become my friends, their worries are my worries. I get to experience things that I could never once hope to experience before, ever. I get to travel between worlds, fight in a rebellion, fall in love over and over and over again. I get to experience heartbreak, and joy, and overwhelming sadness that eats me up inside. And for a moment--just a single, fleeting moment--I get to forget about everything that happens in my less-than-average life. I get to forget about my homework, and my chores, and my job. I get to accomplish the impossible, to see this world and so many others through another pair of eyes.

I get to escape, and live, without consequence.

Sure, I always come back. I have to. I still have to manage my relationships, answer emails, make money, do laundry. I still have to stay connected to this world, to keep studying and fighting on, even when I would sometimes rather just curl up and ignore everything.

But my world is always waiting for me. Always waiting to comfort me, to allow me to fly, to dream, to experience the happy endings that reality says are impossible.

And that, my dear readers, is why I write.

Until later,

- Justyne