The shower knob came off in my hand as I twisted it to turn off the water, followed by a Pavlovian reaction of “What the fuck?”. Drops of lukewarm water continued to drizzle noisily on the back of my head as I held the broken knob in my hand, still trying to figure out what the hell just happened. As I tried to wriggle the stupid piece of cheap plastic back in place, words from a previous conversation made a quick run through my mind.

“I would be fine with that, but the fact that one of our own is talking about us behind our back… that’s just the icing on the cake. I don’t know what she said about me, but some of them are already assuming things about me after the talk just now.” said a friend.

I told him, “Bleh, people talk about us behind our backs all the time, regardless of who they are. Why does it bother you? Now, of all times?”

“I don’t know.”

“From where you and I stand now, we know how people are. How people talk behind our backs, put on masks in front of us. We know these things for facts.”

“Yeah, but i’m not as emotionally stable as you are. Not all the time, at least.”

“Well, I’ve been emotionally unstable plenty of times, you’ve witnessed those moments yourself. I think I can accept those facts a lot easier because I’ve become more cynical about it. And probably because I vent them out instead of keeping them in.”

As I started to think more and more about it, the fact that I’ve become such a cynic that is, I couldn’t help but let out a tired laugh followed by an amused sigh. I’m not that old, I’ll only be turning 22 this year. Not much of a magical age, but at least I’m now legal to do lots of stuff to enhance and enrich my spring of youth, right? Only thing that bothers me though is that my comfort zone is closing in really fast.

After a few weeks in my new faculty, I realised that I’ve gotten a bit too old to catch up and laugh at the humorless jokes of bright and hopeful youngsters, and still too young to relate and nod to the cynicism and bitterness of wrinkling and tired old-timers. Facepalming has been an ever constant companion of mine, lately.

You know what it’s like when you’re walking on that line that separates the young and old? You walk on it with pride and grace but before you realise it the line grows thinner and starts to blur as you step further, and you’re still too fucking oblivious to notice it. Still, I’m just living my youthful years, and I’m supposed to be enjoying every moment of it.

Unfortunately though, I think my brilliant spring of youth has become a pathetic autumn of ruin when I started having all these meaningless epiphanies and ungodly revelations every time I shave off my ugly goatee.

Sometimes, enlightenment just plain sucks.