Does Age = Best Before Date?

The bitter taste of reality hits the “sweet” life.

This year I find myself forced to swallow a very bitter pill. Throughout my life, I have always been one of the younger people in most social situations. My birthday is later in the year which means that most of my friends were always a few months older than I was. I am the youngest of two siblings. Staying in Nerina, there were always girls who were older than I was. Where am I going with this? It’s not particularly easy for me to say, or even type. But here I go, count me down: 1... 2... 3...! This year I‘m officially the oldest person living in my flat. I’m cringing at the very thought of admitting this to myself, yet again, and now to you.

You may be reading this, thinking: “You’re not even 23 yet, how can this be such an issue for you?!” But the truth is, when we get older we have to take on more responsibilities. For some reason I find myself clutching onto the idea of my student years. I’m terrified of having to enter the professional world and, dare I say it, become a grown-up. Grown-ups pay taxes and have to fill out uncountable forms for medical aid, insurance, unemployment insurance and Heaven only knows what else! Growing up is inevitable, it’s something we must all do, but if I could just put it off for a little while longer...

 No. This is not an option. I realised this last week Thursday. But to explain how I came to this harsh realisation, I must start at the beginning.

My new flat-mates are lovely girls. Joan’s 2 years younger than I am and works at a law firm while she studies part-time. Sarah’s 4 years younger than I am; she’s just finished high school and started studying full-time. It was near the end of last year that the harsh realisation that I would be the oldest person in my flat set in. But thanks to the December holidays and plenty of distraction from The Greek, I managed to push this evil thought to the back of my mind. I began the year telling myself that I would not play “policeman” with these girls just because I’m older than they are. “They are not your responsibility!” I told myself, “They have mothers who can fuss over them!”

Of course, when the girls moved in and we actually started living together the evil thought crept back into the front of my mind. Seeing how Sarah seemed to be struggling to adjust to varsity life and watching her cook her first few meals on her own (struggling a bit as she went), made me realise how much of an age-gap 4 years really is! I had been just like that, only it seemed like decades ago to me. And I found myself resisting a strange urge to help her out more than was necessary.

Last week Thursday I was playing Cinderella - doing laundry, washing dishes and cleaning the flat in general, when Sarah returned home from class and was violently ill. At first I repeated my mantra “They are not your responsibility! They have mothers who can fuss over them!” But then I realised that Sarah’s mother was over an hour away, which reminded me of one particularly horrid day I had experienced when I was living in Nerina. I was violently ill with some or other stomach flu and since I didn’t have a car or a license at the time, I had to walk to the doctor. He gave me an injection, and only informed me afterwards that I would need someone to drive me home as I would feel very drowsy. Having no other options, I lied and said that my friend would pick me up – and I regretted that all the way 

home when I nearly fainted several times!

My soft chocolate centre broke through my hard candy-coating and I went to check on Sarah. She was rather tough herself, and refused to let me take her to a doctor or buy her some medication for the nausea. I left her to sleep and eventually she went out on her own to get medication. Later that night while Joan and I were eating dinner, my soft chocolate centre oozed out again by asking Sarah if she had eaten anything at all that day and when she said that she hadn’t, I pretty much ordered her to make herself a piece of toast - at the very least - and eat dinner with Joan and I. What happened next was something that shocked me to my very core. Sarah asked me why she should do what I said and, without even thinking about the words flying out of my mouth, I replied: “Because I‘m the oldest in this flat!” Shocking as this was, Joan’s quip straight after was the cherry on-top. Joan’s usually such a sweet and quiet little thing but she quickly piped up: “The oldest, but not the wisest!”

Needless to say, the three of us sat there in stitches. I could not believe the fact that I had used my age as a means of invoking a sense of authority and we all couldn’t believe how sharp and witty Joan’s comment had been. Sarah eventually had a piece of toast and we all went about our evening plans.

Later that night when I reflected on the day, I came to the conclusion that I must accept that I am growing up and that I’ll be faced with responsibilities far more important than worrying about my young flat-mates. But I dare say that the responsibility of worrying about the girls is a good place to start. After all, they aren’t just my flat-mates - they’re my friends. And perhaps Joan’s quip was a funny way of helping me realise that I still have a great deal to learn about myself before I can consider myself “old”. In the end, swallowing the bitter pill made the “sweet” life a little bit sweeter.