ambiguous

was reading quaintly.net's post this morning when the words jumped out from the screen and danced before my eyes. when did the comic section in the paper become a reprieve, when did food suddenly taste like it had one tablespoon too much sugar, when did it become an option for corners to be cut? 17 years of difference, a young beautiful lady blooming to greet the best years of her life and a woman bordering on auntiedom who has already travelled down a major part of hers, and yet their feelings are one. is this the inevitable for sentimentalist?

i can't even remember when i've started to hide in the comic section of the papers; it has been too long ago but i distinctly remember the day when all the politics and hypocrisy that lies within its pages became too much and the purposeful action of turning to the comics section first as a balm for my soul. growing up was akin to getting clearer vision for all the ugliness in the world.

when did sweetness become unbearable and seemingly farce? when all the bitterness is too real and the coldness a part of life. i used to be able to tell the difference and objected strongly. now i think i have unknowingly merged into part of the world i fight so hard to stay out.

as i sighed, stretched and looked up into the embossed flower etchings on my ceiling just now, i realise that the beautiful artwork is now desecreted with many little freckled spots. mould or dirt, i have no inkling, but it reminds me of growing up. don't know when, don't know why, you're no longer as innocent as you were or would like to be when you were young. your character is probably flawed from the stains the imperfect society has left. you had ideals, ambitions, principles, ethics...all of which had to be compromised for the gray areas that lies between the right and wrong. you used to be passionate about everything, now your soul is tired from the countless fights between what is correct and what needs to be done. sometimes you look to the children for guidance on what is morally good.

the world was like a white empty canvas when i was growing up, with the palette of colours in my hand. now, i realise the picture has long been drawn, i'm just filling in the colours.