Growing up, getting down

When I was younger -- pre-school, I think -- there were a lot of times when my mother would be away for periods of time on business. She ran her own small scale supplies trade and had a lot of things to attend to. Most of the time, she was in the city transacting deals.

Like most kids, I hated being away from my mother. I would wail and yell whenever she travels. She'd bring us treats every time she came back and it would make me forgive her for leaving us at home. But I never forgot how bad I felt when she went away. It's an empty feeling.

Back then, I thought of giving her one end of a thread when she has to go somewhere far and then I'd hold the other end. Somehow, in my child's head, it was important to me that I have something to hold on to that was connected to my mother. It felt like she's just with me and the thread was evidence that I was not left alone.

I'm trying to remember at which point in my life I graduated from that phase. But I can't. I wish I could remember the exact moment when I realized: that the thread idea was stupid; that I didn't mind being left behind anymore; that I don't get everything I want; that life works in a certain way and that I don't have control over it some of the time, most of the time, all of the time.

I want to find out when I grew up. And if it was worth it.

Maybe there comes a time in a person's life when growing up seems like a downer. Maybe the person is in a depressingly contemplative stage. Maybe the person thinks if the transition point from childhood to adulthood is defined, one can find closure and move on to a better future.

Maybe I'm just wishful thinking.

Being a child is the time when a spool of thread is endless. Being a grown-up is the time when a spool of thread is just something stored in the bottom drawer.