Katrina

15

“Summer Age”
I used to think that I’m growing up, as the candles grew in number.
But I realized that I’m growing up, as the summer heat slowly lessens the number of leaves on a tree.
Aging comes with experiences. Yes, time is a factor but the number read on the cake does not define one’s pure growth, it just tells you that you are 365 days older.
I didn't feel the growth in me during my birthdays, but when leaves began to wither in the heat, slowly becoming crisp.
My youth diminished and crumbled up like a leaf in summer.
Summers on a playground used to be scraped knees and having the fear of the fast peeling of a band aid off of my skin.
Summers now, I fear being a band aid, of being attach to people, and being quickly ripped out of their lives.
Summers at the beach used to be sand-castle making, and running away from the grabbing waves.
Summers now at the beach, I try to learn to be a wave…to be consistent, to be distant, to learn to push away when the shores are no longer worth the scathing pain, because love; is just a game, that pulls you in, and gets under your skin. I try to build a sand castle around me, for protection from affection, a sand castle that’s concrete, because what’s inside is fragile.
Summers on a plane, I used to think, people who closed their windows on airplanes were sad people, because who didn't want to see a bunch of clouds, or miniature crowds, or the bright city under, or maybe even parts of the seven wonders?
Summers now on a plane, I still believe that people with closed windows are sad people, but only because they don’t want anything in, they tend to push away whoever tries to come in.
Summers on a plane, I used to think that if you pushed hard enough on the windows of people, you’d be able to touch the clouds.
Summers now on a plane, I still believe that if you push hard enough on the windows of people, yes, you’d be able to break in, but instead of a soft cloud, you’d be able to feel their cold storm, and just maybe, you’d be able to touch them.

Summers camping, I learned the closer you are to the fire, the better the s’mores.
Summers camping now, I am still learning that the price of being too close to the fire, is getting burnt.
And I’m still growing. Still growing, and holding on to the sand, so when a wave hits, I’ll be tall enough to stand.
Still enduring, and curing no longer the scraped knee from the monkey bars, but the scars within me.

Still in need of motivation, and some type of inspiration, to keep the camp fire of compassion burning in me.
Still in need of tolerance and acceptance, that not everyone’s cold storm can be warmed with a jacket, but it’s never bad to give it a try, to see eye to eye.
And I’m still learning, still earning knowledge through these summer experiences.
Still realizing, and analyzing the purpose for my existence.
Still figuring out the reason, why I age so much in this season.
Why I’m aging as flowers decay slowly during the day, or when schools are empty, while pools are full, or when ice cream shops are booming, or when the sound of booming scatters in the sky in July, or when I’d hold my mom’s hand less often during the take-off in the plane going to Hawaii.
I’m not the same, my aging cannot be tamed.
Summer to me, is the flame that lights up the candles on the birthday cake.
If you asked me how old I am. I’d say 15. But if you asked what my summer age is, I’d say, “older than you’ll ever think.”