If there’s anything I am an expert at in life, it’s definitely introspection. The calendar reads October 2nd, which means by the 5th, it’ll be half a year since I turned 24; evidently, my mind started its series of self-reflection, where I started asking myself: has 24 made me softer?
I’ve always despised gender-specific adjectives such as soft and delicate because they misrepresent my reality. It boxes me in a category I do not wish to be in. Growing up, I’ve always been viewed as this tiny, innocent human being merely because of my height. Then again, this is not the purpose of my pondering. Instead, I wonder, has I always been this soft and fragile, and somewhere in my mid-twenties, I became even softer?
And the next question that haunts me as I am typing this is: why do I detest this word so much, and I’d circumnavigate various other labels just to find a macho alternative?
Who said soft was coined to represent females only? Hasn’t I always raved about soft gentlemen? So when it comes to me, I cannot use that term because a “softie” is seen as weak?
Coming out of the very bitter 23, April embraced me so softly and I saw my pieces melt so gracefully. I’d say it’s understandable because my 23 took place in the also bitter 2016, so my sourness surfaced correspondingly.
What I am certain of, however, is that 24 was solely my production. There were no outsiders breathing down my neck, urging me to be more social, less shy, more daring, less anxious. I just lounged and let anxiety take its course, knowing that this is all normal.
Last week, I took notice of my anxiety, and I chose to do something in the span of four days instead of two, just to keep my nervousness at bay. I wasted my time, indeed, but I picked my mental and physical health for once. I was aware for once.
In that age as well, I saw myself accepting people back into my life. I’m talking about strangers I’ve blocked or unfollowed who chose to follow me again, and instead of being bitter, I hailed them. I have no hate toward virtual strangers I’ve never met, but I am being exceptionally kinder to them now.
I love skipping around, blushing behind my phone screen, and buying myself fresh flowers once a month. Is that bad?
Today, I got a flashback of when I was younger: I recall when I saw my cousin bleeding from an injury, instead of him crying, I was the one shaking and sobbing. He had to come to my room, with a Band-Aid on his wound, to tell me: “Hey Sophie, look! I am fine! Don’t worry.” He had to console me!?
So I’d say I was always tender, but 24 made me more sensitive. Is that good or bad? Let me know in the comments x