Date de rédaction : Inconnu
Taille du texte brut : 5 309 octets
This post is in English not because I want to look like a cool kid (I’ll write about that someday) but because I want to keep experimenting stuff. Plus I just read a whole lotta cute indie magazine named Frankie or Caboodle, and it made me want to write English. Also, I have to practise English for job-related reasons. I am aware that my English is not perfect but hey, that’s just a test.
I have been thinking about growing up a lot lately. In fact, I’ve always been thinking about that. And I’ve always been wondering if I consider myself a grown-up, or if I want to be a grown-up at all. It’s hard for me to say I’m a woman because I’ve always felt like I was just a girl. A kid.
Petite, you walk like a snail and you eat like a bird. Petite, I can not believe we’re the same age. The first time I saw you, I thought you were 19 or 20.
That’s what my colleague tells me from time to time. He’s not calling me Petite because I’m small, but also because I look like a kid. And because I act like a kid. And he’s not the first. People often can’t tell my age because I’ve always looked like this. Some people think I’m cute because I like Hello Kitty and I put bows in my hair.
Some people like to remind me I’m naive and innocent (and I’ll also write about that and why being naive and innocent is not a bad thing at all). Other people like to remind me I have less life experience, less work experience or just less experience. Fine by me, I never pretended to be an expert at anything.
Anyways. Yes I look like a kid. Yes I like Hello Kitty. Yes I put bows in my hair. Yes I like unicorns. And donuts. And anything pink actually. I often finish sentences with u2665 on Linux or alt 3 on Windows (♥). I shop at H&M’s child section because it’s cheaper and because I love wearing clothes designed for kids. I don’t drink red wine and I always order beer with grenadine syrup when I socialize outside of my house (which does not happen very frequently).
I hate partying. I hate going outside, making new friends because I’m shy and I don’t know the art of small talk. I don’t go to rave neither. I like going up to bed early, sleep a lot and I feel depressed when I get up late. I drink coffee though. A lot of coffee. And I smoke a lot too. I read books, sometimes complicated books. And maybe that’s the only grown-up stuffs I do. Well… I do have a job. I think it’s wall people call a real job. I have an income every month, and I also pay my rent every month. Does this mean I’m a grown-up?
When I was a child, I hated being around kids my age (that’s because they were mean to me). When I was a teenager, I hated people my age too (that’s because they terrified me). I never felt close to the students that were in my class when I was at university. I always wanted to be with the elders and the grown-ups. They felt more secure, more reliable and more interesting. But I’m supposed to be a grown-up now. I’m 25. Or maybe I’ll be an authentic grown-up when I’ll turn 30?
Anyways. Now I get to hang out with grown-ups, I can see clearly I don’t belong. But it’s okay. I don’t want to belong anywhere. I can be a lot of labels, and I’m very okay, even quite happy, to always be the weirdo. I like being the kiddo. I’m the one that does not belong and it’s fine. Because I’m too serious when I’m not supposed to be, and because I’m not serious enough when I have to be. Maybe I don’t want to be a grown-up. I don’t care having a « real job ».
No zine is a bad zine unless it’s really offensive ;p I thought yours was very creative, funny, and sweet. It was deep and yet silly at the same time, which I like!
This is an excerpt from an email I received when I put Mooshka’s Paper Experiment on Etsy and talked briefly with a really sweet zinester. Deep and yet silly at the same time. I thought about that, a lot. Because it never occured to me before someone highlighted it. Yes, I can be deep and silly at the same time. But it does not really answer my question: Am I a grown-up? And what is the meaning of growing up? And why do I care so much?
Do I even care at all? Actually, now I’m really wondering if I care at all, I think the answer is no. I don’t care not knowing. Because it won’t make a difference. I’ll still be the Petite weirdo with bow in her hair that orders beer with grenadine syrup. I don’t want to be a grown-up nor I want to be a kid.
I know growing up is not having a real job or paying a rent. Growing up is not drinking red wine or going to parties with your fellow students.
I don’t need to know what is the meaning of growing up. I don’t need to know if I am a grown-up. The only thing I need is to be consistent with myself. And tell the world: hello world, this is who I am. Would you like me to send you a nice unicorn illustration? ♡