When They Say They are of What They were

I straighten my t-shirt, my boss, Ms. Hepburn was busy talking to her phone. I sign-languaged her to go and eat my lunch. I walked through the crowded reception area of the art center: parents saying "good job" and "that's nice" as such and of course parents who were sending their child(ren) for the first time and their excitement plus anxiety. I fished my way through, out of the main entrance, turned right and after passing through a shop I made another right turn and my legs in my loose jeans find their way out of the mall and into an open space.

As I was flipping open my "oxygen" box, I took in the view in front of me - the central park. The lake, the pavement for joggers and the bustling traffic that seemed endless. I lighted up my "oxygen" stick. Inhaled deep and let out an enormous sum of carbon dioxide. I like inhaling the "oxygen". It gives me sometime to think about a lot of things around me. One of those things was how carefree I was ages ago, in time line that is almost erased in the past.

I keep telling myself that I am still carefree, but at the back of my mind a thousand and one voices telling me that I am not and will never be able to have that again. It's not that I regretted the present, but rather I cherish the past and hope for the best in the near future. I am given many chances in life and miracle events that change my life and the path that its going and I am able to say that I am still learning to grow up. When it comes to think of it, when they say they are of what they were, it is not a bad thing at all. Its a pleasant lesson in disguise indeed.

I puffed out the final set of CO2, squashed the stick on a tray provided and started walking to the art center.