"Wait till you are old enough," they said. "It will be fun," they said. "Eating more than 2 eggs daily is for 'big children'." The jury is still out on that last one.
I remember waiting a whole year to watch The Matrix because it was rated 13 on M-Net (a once glorious version of cable in Uganda, for my non-Ugandan readers). The wait was painful but the reward half-erased the memory of my younger self climbing the walls of the corridor in our Bugolobi Flat to catch a glimpse of Trinity in spandex 🤷🏾♂️.
Usually, I fell and bruised my heels. And when I didn't, my mum caught me and spanked me.
Fast forward several years and several racy Game of Thrones episodes later, I was embroiled in peak adulting. I was several miles away from home. In America. No parents or friends to hold me accountable. I could do whatever I wanted. Be whoever I wanted. We will unpack this next time 🔥.
One of the wildest things about growing up is the evolution of one's relationships with one's parents. It's like we're a breakdancing duo. One passes the first wave and the other has to return it in kind.
I hid my vegetables under my plate, so now I have to force my dad to exercise regularly and take his medication.
I remember the first time I realized adulting wasn't a magical switch flipped on once I grew chest hair and a few chin whiskers. All those years of clearing all the bread and leaving my dad confused came back to haunt me.
You see, growing up, there was always food at home. Even in hindsight, when I recall the tough times for my parents financially, there was still rice at home. So I assumed I would grow up and get a call from the government (I was so CUTE) or Angel Gabriel and they would tell me where to get the bread and milk for the rest of my adult life. But no one called.
Last week, our house manager (see how woke I am?) texted me saying we needed bulbs for the kitchen lights and I almost retorted: "Why the f*@k are you telling me?" Then I realized this is my life. I went from "bread clearer" to breadwinner and it's not glamorous.
My real issue is why no one tells us early enough. Why don't our parents confess early enough that they also don't know what they are doing? Can you imagine that there are girls who found out about menstruation on a random day at school, yet their mothers were at home? I had to find out about girls and relationships through trial and error and honestly, and it was not pretty. We will talk about that next time 😅.
I punched through my 20s, growing through error and leaving behind tears and terror. I finally met myself, a thousand misguided friendships and detours later and I am just now comfortable in my skin.
At 32, I am not sure I know where I am going, but I know where I don't want to go. I am grateful for the clarity of aging and the wisdom gained from a closer relationship with my parents and old friends.
I intend to squeeze the juice out of life and buy enough bread for Zion (my son) to clear. I know I can't fully prepare Zion for life, and I can't shield him from all the daggers life throws, but I can try. My parents did their best, so I will do my best. Zion will find out from me about real estate scams in Uganda, our peculiar marriage to mediocrity, using wet wipes when there are no bidets, reading the room, and the value of genuine relationships.
I hope you're adulting well. If you aren't, you're not alone. We will figure it out. Or we won't. Either way, we will be fine.
Have a good week ✌🏾
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