It's a slow afternoon in late-May(!), and I'm sitting here wondering how it is that I am 25 now. It's one of those melancholy days spent daydreaming about nothing at all. So here is a running commentary of my stream of consciousness.

You grow up feeling like this day will never come. When i was a kid, most of the time I felt like these days never ended; summer was hot and everlasting and all i worried about was who to call to play basketball with. And then there were the times when i would inexplicably think about the future. getting old. dying.

I can recall a very specific memory, maybe when i was 10 or 11 years old, of going through a Peter Pan phase: I was afraid of becoming old. I remember lying awake at night, wondering what the future held for me. I'm sure it sounds conceited now, but I remember thinking that I'd one day become this great person, someone who'd make an actual difference in the world. What's more, I didn't just imagine greatness, I expected it. But of course, imagining these things from the comfort of your bed was a lot easier back then than it is now.

Nowadays, although I'd hate to admit it, my daily life revolves around something a little less altruistic: money. As a kid, I hated the concept of money, and especially the way it seeded arguments between parents.

But once reality sets in, you realize that you aren't special. Money drives the world, and the world doesn't cater to you. The only semblance of greatness you will probably experience are the imagined scenarios in your head while driving home alone from work.

So, I guess the purpose of this post is: which is worse? The naive child who expected greatness while never experiencing the realities of life, or that same child 15 years later?