Idealism and the passions of youth

Idealism and the passions of youth


Some people could live their whole lives and never really know what a privilage it is to actually live. I think you start to understand that when you're young, when getting old doesn't exist in your mind, and the only troubles you have are what games to play.

The weather changes, along with your mind, body and soul, and you start to regret being eighteen or nineteen. You hear that you're at the age where you have to take a certain responsibility for yourself, and you get scared, scared of beginning your journey to manhood and accepting defeats you would have never accepted before. Once you accept what you've done wrong, you can begin searching for a solution to why it was wrong.

I grew up so happy, that half the time i forgot the date. When we get to the age when we must remember, we to start to slowly tick off the day's on our calenders, dreading the day we have once every year, when we move a little higher up on the cycle of life.

There was a guy i knew a few years ago. He was real polite, chatty. He died at only sixteen of a premature heart attack, which is something you're born with and that can strike at any time, something that has you waiting with fear for the unexpected day when you go asleep, and simply don't wake up again.

It struck me as odd, that someone like God would do this, take a boy's life away from him, but when something bad happens we always blame God. Maybe we should take it as pure bad luck. Maybe some of us are born, only to die before we reach eighteen. Is that life? Is that the hard part of youth, that some of us might not escape alive?

The day's of youth were mostly spent running around, wishing we could be 'Superman' or 'Batman', and wanting to grow up a 'Ghostbuster' or a fireman. We didn't have any problems then, no decisions that had a 'God only knows' outcome, just our costumes and our toy guns.

Some of us express the emtions to love and say beautiful things, but then we get old and start to realise it's not very manly to admit defeat, weakness and tell our parents how much we love them. The streets and our friends toughen us up, and before we know it we're imprisoned within a shell of machismo, invincible from love and loss and heartbreak. Are we really invincible from things though?

It's unbelievable how foolish we are with youth, to try drink, drugs and smoking. We don't think about the people who never make it to seventeen. We don't keep ourselves healthy in memory of those people. We are imbecils with youth.