What nineteen means to me.
A very, very short essay by Kristopher Shepard
I’m nineteen-years of age not old or young like some would say. Just plain ol’ nineteen, stuck between becoming an adult in the eyes of the Constitution and leaving my teen years behind me. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about that for a while now, why does nineteen suck the big one so much? It’s simple, this is about the time when life gets real fast and starts to blur so to catch up with it you go full speed at all times.
Stopping is never an option when you’re nineteen. Gravity keeps you grounded but drugs and alcohol keep you floating throughout the days until something exciting happens. In between what seems to be endless nights of debauchery and mayhem you find love and care. Love and care aren’t that great at nineteen either, you’re not nearly adult enough to realize anything and you’re way to selfish to really care too much.
Nineteen is not the age for love. Nineteen is a year to be selfish, to be silly, to enjoy the weather to stop and smell the roses. I don’t think roses have ever smelled so good until I was nineteen. Nineteen is the most unmotivated age, I can’t seem to get much motivation for my life, I go to class do my work and go out and do my thing. I never take into account anything else. I should, but at nineteen I shouldn’t have too, it’s a double standard. Nineteen means something different to everyone.
It’s the twilight of your second life looking into your third life and ahead. My twenties hope to be promising and for that reason alone I’ll enjoy not enjoying nineteen for just a little longer. Fuck being nineteen.