A Reflection with Gray Hair Trying to Show Teeth

I used to take public transportation everywhere. When I say everywhere, I mean pretty much everywhere: school, friends', business, leisure, ladies, nowhere. I still take public transportation these days because it is how its and that's the way things are right now. I should point out that I've relied less heavily on it lately on account of my latest material acquisition: a bicycle, which I ride everywhere... for the most part. I won't go into further detail with that right now but you get what I mean. And by that I also mean that my bicycle isn't the main focus of this post. It's actually what I would see on the bus or subway train: life.

Broken down and still walking at differing paces I see them: older people. Older people have begun to become a reflection of some sort. A vision of what lies ahead for me. I'm not very fond of this, not because I'm a shallow asshole who also happens to very vain and narcissistic and all that crap (though there are a few people who would say that I am, indeed, all those things). But because it doesn't paint an accurate picture of me or them; it doesn't take into consideration the different circumstances and experiences that we have lived, it makes a vast and sweeping generalization about youth and age as a whole. I've already been told I'm going to resemble my father when I get older (or have been told I already resemble him). Both of which really suck because it hurts when the boy who doesn't like his father, is told he is becoming more and more like his father. But it does make me wonder (about other people): how were they like when they were younger? What did they look like? What aspirations did they have? It's mostly questions that I have and my imagination to fill the gaps.

For the most part.

The bags bearing down on their shoulders, children wearing out the already vacant and expressionless faces... these things give way to certain information. Or at the very least hints at information. They're miserable, or they seem to be.

That's probably why I don't like being told that I'm going to end up like them: misery. Feeling like shit because I didn't accomplish my goals and am now stuck in a downward spiral allowing everything to collapse and tear itself to pieces because I just don't seem to give a fuck anymore.

No, that can't be me. I can't let the mirror show me the broken-down reflection of someone else's agony. Almost like breathing it comes, a cry for help masked in a bark to sheathe the ceaseless anguish that comes with breathing and living. That's another reason I hate that sweeping generalization: I refuse to accept the notion that I will be tied down by a bunch of kids that I hate and shout at them to do this and that only to have them run around wearing me ragged all the time.

In a nutshell: I don't like being frequently told that I'm going to age badly and still be strapped to the sidewalk burdened by screaming miniature me's.

Wouldn't you feel the same way, too? If all anyone did was tell you that you were going to be trapped in a hole, skewered by rusty daggers at all hours of the day, wouldn't you want to lash out and be a little scornful of such notions?

It's only natural, I suppose.