For a child, becoming an adult is all they could ever want. Take it from a former child himself (of course, I think I have surpassed my childish years even though I haven’t in the slightest). All I wanted a few years ago was to look and function like an adult. The persona of adulthood not only intrigued me, but it lured me.
Such freedom adults had, the ability to drive cars and go wherever they want, spend money at will and best of all, they lived away from their parents (well, most adults). To an 8-year old Adi, the idea of adulthood was nothing but a paradise.
And I can safely say, I tried my best to mimic their behaviour. I repeatedly attempted to be the mature one in any situation, always doing the right thing, or at least what an 8 year old thought was correct. I longed for that elderly respect. The freedom to do anything and not be forced to do things like tuck into bed at 8:30 pm on a Friday night after being forced to watch an episode of a terrible soap opera with my mother. Yet every one of my attempts at living the big life, failed.
Back in mid 2012, my family was invited to the anniversary party of my aunt and uncle. As usual, we heartily accepted the invitation to the fancy venue and now had exciting plans for that Saturday night. Coincidentally that week, my mother had bought me a new pair of semi-formal shoes, and I was apt on putting them to use for the occasion. Of course, with the new shoes, I requested to wear a new, spiffy outfit as well, and my demand was fulfilled.
Saturday evening rolled around and the dressing up began. My father as usual, was ready in 5 minutes. A simple suit and loafers did the job for him. My mother, on the other hand, took her sweet 2 hours to pick out a lovely dress, shoes and lipstick. She spent half the time curling her hair and then proceeded to get out the outfits for my brother and I.
As the time came to roll out of the house, everyone made their last touches. My parents used their best perfume and cologne, and the house was smelling better than ever. Just as they were getting ready downstairs, I happened to spot the drawer of my mother’s dresser open.
As I went to close it, the several shiny perfume bottles caught my curious eye. And wannabe-adult Adi struck to action. I picked up the biggest and fanciest looking bottle of perfume and decided what the heck, might as well smell nice.
I raised the bottle to my chest, and pressed the atomizer top. Instantly, the pain rushed to my eyes. My idiotic self had turned the nozzle to my face, and now everything was burning like hell. Thankfully, I had enough life left in me to put the perfume back down and close the dresser before I shouted for my parents.
The exciting night was now out of the picture, and ended in my parents icing and blowing warm air on my eyes for the next 3 hours. Those hours were quite painful, and worst of all, I didn’t get to show off my outfit either.
Since then, I have never tried to act like an adult, nor have I even touched that bottle of Chanel perfume from the trauma. To this day, even the salespeople selling fragrances at shopping malls frighten me when they flash the bottles in my face. I definitely don’t want an accidental press to ruin yet another evening.
So much for being adult-like. I guess maybe I should stick to my childish habits and let the development process happen on its own. As Calvin so amazingly puts it, by 18 I will definitely know better than to spray myself in the eyes with perfume… or at least I hope will.