Welcome to a series from Culture Shock, Be Younonymous. Here, anonymous members of the BU community contribute their stories from campus life and beyond under the condition of complete secrecy. Have a story? e-mail it to Beyounonymous@bucultureshock.com . We’ll take it to our servers’ graves.
I am, by many accounts, incredibly immature. As has been reminded to me on many occasions, I have no filter. I tend to blurt things out in class, be they the answer to a question in class or a crude sexual innuendo in an intimate gathering. I act very childish at times, preferring to call names rather than settle disputes, asking for an extension on a soon-to-be-late homework assignment, or laying around and watching cartoons for hours on end. I am, in many cases, entirely inappropriate. I try to crack jokes which nigh invariably fall flat. Hell, I have difficulty making up my mind between sandwich and salad at Subway. Unless I’ve known you for under an hour, am really, REALLY trying to impress you, or some combination of the two, you will pick up on this.
As I slowly made the trek back home this evening, I pondered this. Why am I so immature? Why can’t I know when to stop? Why do I try so hard to get people to like me, such that they invariably no longer do? Thinking back through my life, I think I may have found a clue.
Who am I? I am the four year old whose best friend just moved halfway across the country. I am the seven year old getting pantsed in front of his second grade class. I am the nine year old wondering why his mommy and daddy are making him go to music lessons instead of playing soccer with his friends, the eleven year old unable to comprehend why people would fly airplanes into a building, the thirteen year old who just had a bar mitzvah and no longer believes in God. I am the fifteen year old, struggling to cope with his father’s death…
And now I’m the twenty year old, transferring back home to live near his mother. I am the twenty year old hiding behind cracked jokes and fake smiles. I am the twenty year old hoping to distract people from looking inside his closet and seeing what’s inside. I am twenty years old, and I am unable to grow up.
I write this not to give answers, but to ask questions. How did you know when it was time to finally grow up? How did you adjust to your new role? Most importantly, how do I get to a place where I can look forward and become the man I should be, instead of the boy I now am?
Lastly, I write this as an apology. There are many who have read my writing, heard me speak, or even just heard of me, and I’ve likely offended a fair few of you with my childish behavior. Let it be known that I want to change. I just don’t know how.