24 years young.
They ask me how I am and I answer: “I am but 24 years young.”
Living out my second childhood with the inner child
who is unlearning all the unhealthy coping mechanisms and internalized toxic behaviours
from my first childhood,
and learning to exist imperfectly,
living for the little things in life:
the went-sledding-and-laughter-rumbled-from-my-belly-button-to-the-tip-of-my-toes-and-then-all-the-way-up-to-my-crow’s-feet-when-I-fell-off-the-sled moments;
the it’s-foggy-outside-and-the-roads-are-empty-so-we-can-take-eerie-photos-in-the-middle-of-the-road-and-not-worry-about-passing-cars moments;
the watched-grandpa-fill-seltzer-bottles-with-soda-in-his-now-closed-soda-shop moments;
the it’s-the-last-day-of-2021-and-the-bright-blue-sky-is-ablaze-with-pink-orange-and-yellow-cotton-candy-clouds-so-let’s-climb-up-the-ladder-near-our-grandparents’-attic-where-they-used-to-store-hay-when-we-were-kids-to-get-a-better-view moments;
the went-for-a-walk-in-the-forest-the-day-after-New-Year’s-Eve-and-took-a-photo-of-Maya’s-cute-paw-prints-in-the-snow moments;
the had-a-spontaneous-snowball-fight-like-there’s-no-tomorrow-and-ended-up-with-bruised-butts-shins-and-knees-but-I’ve-never-felt-so-alive-in-years moments;
the let’s-tease-each-other-and-laugh-wholeheartedly-in-grandma’s-dimly-lit-room-while-she-knits-us-jumpers-and-hums-her-favourite-songs moments.
So when they ask me how I am, I answer:
I am 24 years young.
And not a day too old.
– Patricia
Da Capo al Poetry 