I may be imperfect, but I'm perfectly me.

Growing up is a funny thing. And let me tell you why.

You remember when we were small at how we all used to write things in our tiny little secretive journals? How we made everyone swear in the name of their most valuables that they would never take a peek into our diaries because oh, what we wrote was so scandalous and juicy? Yep, even when the most exciting thing in our lives that we could write about was our secret crush on the boy next door? No, not the gardener, this isn’t Desperate Housewives, please. Anyway, you know, that sort of thing?

Well, I was one of those people. Even as a child, I was a diary-junkie. I kept journals, in fact, a whole lot of them because I would get bored of writing in the same diary for a long period of time so after like, a month or so of writing almost everyday in the same book, I would get that itch to buy another one and start new in those fresh untouched papers and that’s the vicious cycle. I know, short attention span, right? Well, okay, so the old diaries (and every one of them all became old eventually) were always put to waste because they weren’t even full yet. Being somewhat of a geek, I’ve always loved stationary and the best shopping spree ever to me was buying sets of new colorful pens and organizers. Hey, there are a lot worse addictions out there, okay! Pens are so less harmful, and at least they’re cheap! My dad wouldn’t have headache this often if my obsession now is only limited to papers and pencils. So, anyway, I had up to ten journals and rereading all those entries again when I’m at least eight years older (much less-dramatic and more realistic, I hope) is amusing and embarrassing at the same time.

In addition to being an ungrateful spoiled little brat (for wasting papers and therefore, contributing towards the early stage of global warming), I was also a complete list-freak. I would make a list of everything I could possibly make a list out. And I couldn’t just do that in mind, I had to write them all and perhaps I did that because I just loved to write too much so everything I felt had to be written down, I don’t know. Or maybe I was just simply a freak who has some kind of compulsive disorder. Well, anyway, I re-opened all my journals, and the oldest that I could find was from 1999 and I couldn’t believe how funny I sounded! I listed everything, from all the books I owned (as if I wanted to open a library or something), magazines, cassettes, favorite film characters, television shows, and oh geez, I’m so ashamed, top three guys whom I wanted to marry in the future.

I wrote all sorts of ridiculous things, but reading all of these again reminds me of how naïve and free and innocent I was. Okay, maybe not so innocent since I have been thinking of marrying someone when I was only, what, 12?

I guess in a way I forgot about that. I forgot about the way I used to be, the way I used to think and write, the way I used to feel. I forgot about how crazy I was towards The X-Files (okay, David Duchovny in specific), and Joshua Jackson, and Hewitt the tennis player, and Seifer from Final Fantasy, and Brian from the Backstreet Boys; I forgot how obsessive I got to comic books and Sweet Valley novels; I forgot how nauseatingly girly I got when I had crush on the boy next door (seriously, he has the fairest thigh I have ever seen! Oops, not that I have seen a lot. How could I get to take a look at his thigh? Oh chill, it was a coincidence, he just happened to appear in shorts when I happened to drop by to his house, okay, Completely and utterly coincidental. Geez, I was 17.) I had a lot of funny thoughts that I expressed in writings and now, years from then, it's hard to believe it was me who wrote these all.

But at the same time, it's almost like I could still understand it somehow. Even though I couldn’t put a finger as to why I could get so engrossed to certain things, I could understand, almost remember, that they were indeed very important at one point in my life.

It seemed like a long time ago but then again, maybe not so much. I guess I can still be that dramatic sometimes, it’s just the subject of my obsession is more justifiable now. Is it, really? Well, it’s funny that no matter how older you become, deep inside you’re still the same. I mean, okay, so I was obsessed with comics when I was 14 and I’m not anymore, but do I still like comics? Sure, I still read comics from time to time, the difference is just if there aren’t any, I wouldn’t go looking for it, and I sure wouldn’t spend all my pocket money on them like I used to.

And yeah, I might be crazily in love with Joshua Jackson and David Duchovny back in time, but do I still think they are good-looking now? Sure. I wouldn’t say, “Oh my goodness, they scared the beejezus out of me!” but I wouldn’t go around looking for their posters anymore. You know what I mean? Come to think of it, my interests are still the same, it’s just that the comic books are replaced by novels; and television series with only bunch of good looking actors are substituted by movies and series with good story lines.

I would still watch Buffy and think that it’s good, but I wouldn’t think the world is going to fall on me if I miss just one episode. And I still like writing in colorful pens, it’s just that I have so many leftovers I don’t feel the overwhelming urge to buy new ones just yet, unlike that time when I was in high school that I just kept buying and buying until my pencil case was the size of pregnant stomach of a cow and everyone in class could just borrow pens from me and I still had enough to sell and use the money to buy candies to feed the entire third world countries.

And I'm certainly still a little list-freak and an ever bigger stationery and writing-nerd.

So yeah. Does this all make sense? I guess there's a line in Before Sunset when one of the character says, "Nothing in the world could change our disposition". I mean, the basic nature of a person. There's another quote that says, "On the whole, the happiest people seem to be those who have no particular cause for being happy except that they are so." I believe that we don't really change that much at all.

I worry I've been writing too much already, so forgive me. I'm kinda thinking out loud and yeah, it's very interesting, don't you think? You've outgrown yourself in a lot of ways, but in essentials, in your most basic nature, you are almost exactly the same.