I'm Older Than I Look

As the timeless saying goes, “Age is only a number.”

Up until now, I’ve never been compelled to prove my maturity to anyone about anything. While my attitude has always been “take me as I am,” I can’t help but question my actions that affirm and echo a morbidly painful song which screams, “I’m not a girl. Not yet a woman.”

Is it possible to remain the ideal blend of both ~ considering it’s impossible to find a fit in just one?

At family gatherings I am 12 again. It doesn’t help that my aunts still refer to my cousins and I as “mga bata,” or “the children,” even if we’re all grown men and women. I am 12 when we sit at the dinner table and rehash the funniest moments to develop from the times we used to camp at Yosemite. I am 12 when someone breaks my heart, and all I want to is scream, cry, and ask the universe, “why me?!”

I am 12 when I tackle my dog and tickle his paws; 12 when I sing Whitney Houston in the shower; when I rest my head on my mother’s lap; when I tell my father 'daddy I love you'; when I tell lame jokes to others & end up being the only one in hysterical laughter.

When I wake up for work on Monday mornings, I am 22 again. Sitting in a business meeting with professionals who are significantly older than myself, I am 30. When I pay bills, manage my money, sip my 3rd cup of coffee, purchase a cocktail dress, articulate my thoughts into graceful words, decide what new vehicle to purchase, or choose what furniture to place in a room ~ there is no sign of a 12 year old girl.

12 in the way I develop a crush, 22 in the way that I love, 30 in the way that I kiss.

Not too young to know when it’s time to be serious. Not too old to have fun – even if ‘fun’ meant that my actions were a bit juvenile in the eyes of someone else.