Guest Post: Ken Mutinda
There is such a thing, I think… as growing up, or else this incandescent aura of transcendence that so permeates my body, leaving me so brilliantly luminescent, would be a really, really weird trip.
What it is, I have come to somewhat realize-notice, is not a clean turning of the next page. It is a process, like breaking out of a chrysalis, metamorphosis. As we grow old, time passes and we inevitably lose the extraneous waste that is not necessary for bare survival that we are born with. We lose the bleary eyed innocence, dreamy glint of the eye, outrageous, naive plans, adventure, mystery, curiosity, thirst, lust, and yes… eventually, love. Like a peeling back of the layers, we lose the baby fat, the puffed out chest, the high-held chin, the unflinching stare, we shed the layers until nothing is left but the bare barren core, exposed to the elements of time and life.
Growing up is not winning it is a grave, grave, loss. And it is inevitable. or something like that.