It was a frigid winter morning when I woke up with my adult eyes.
The adult eyes stubbornly see things in an ‘opaque’ way and that was rather strange to me, though not necessarily unwanted.
I ran to the bathroom, washed my face thoroughly, and rubbed my eyes forcefully. Slowly I opened them again and there was my adultness.
The adultness manifested in the gaze is a sign of the complete adultification of being. So it was on a frigid winter morning that I woke up adulterated. That was quite unwanted – unwanted and weird.
The “adulted” seem to have fallen from somewhere, they have all been injured, and are always on the lookout to avoid taking another tumble. Will the floor open again and throw them into another world? You have to walk a lot to keep up with the steps. And because they were very attentive to the steps, the “adulted” learned to lose the practice of looking to the skies to observe the clouds and the stars. Their knees hardened and the bouncing gait is no longer possible.
I looked down at my knees and saw the traces of rust. I felt a cold chill in the center point between my two breasts. One more sign of adulthood that already belonged to me.
The “adultification” of a person becomes evident when, when encountering soap bubbles, the soap is more important than the bubble. And for me, who lived traveling within the translucent colors and private infinities of floating bubbles, the importance of soap was rather strange, not to say undesirable.
The “adulted” do not talk to nature, because they don’t believe it. They do not make fun of the mysteries, they do not offer teeth to the fairies, they do not light the candles, nor negotiate their good deeds in promises to good surprises. Surprises are dangerous for adulthood. “Adultification” is undeniable when the word surprise gets more intonation in as prey.
Adultness in the gaze pasteurizes the existence of the adulted. The possibility of realizing how someone special, unique, a rare piece to be valued no longer fits the adulthood of the look. Diverts attention from careful steps. This not fitting was strange to me, but strangely desirable.
I looked in the mirror looking for the sparkles in my eyes that always guaranteed my specialness. The eyes stared back at me, a heavily criticized look with a touch of desolation, emptied of brilliance. The chill in the spot between my breasts eroded into my spine.
I realized that the sun had not yet come to announce a new day. One more symptom of adultness. The adulterated gaze constantly opens and wakes up without the new day having arrived. Then it was a light winter dawn that I woke up adulted. And now this was no longer strange, though undesirable.
I went back to bed waiting for the sun to arrive, hoping its brightness would illuminate my eyes. Hope is one of the signs of the de-saturation of being. Oof. With a brief sigh, I closed my eyes and went back to sleep.