Every person goes through four stages in life- the innocent, easy childhood; the rebellious, moody teenage years; the always-tired, just-trying-to-earn-some-money adulthood; and the retired, grumpy old age.
Though I am only seventeen, I seemed to have skipped the teenage part but fastforwarded into mature adulthood. When my friends sit by and watch cheesy sitcoms or ridiculous Japanese anime, I watch documentaries and philosophical talks. When everyone around me go high on drugs and alcohol, I snort coffee like my life depends on it. When all my friends are partying and gossiping, I sit idly by, content with my drama-free life.
However, after a while, it gets exhausting. Being the ‘mom’ of your gang of friends, especially when they make stupid, irresponsible choices, really starts to get on your nerves. With time I found myself making excuses and hardly hanging out with them. Slowly, I became a recluse, as I sunk into the dark depths of my room- writing stories and reading books. I hardly found the will to attend school and even if I did, I would ostracize myself, demanding to be left alone. Books were my escape hatch. I would dwell in the world of fiction and mythology.
After a couple of months, I lost all contact with my friends despite their frequent attempts to make me step out of my cocoon. I hardly spoke to my parents or my sister despite their desperate pleas to come out and spend time with them. Books, music and coffee became my new best friends. My room, my safe haven. And my life, introverted.