My biggest fear is growing up. Though it may sound silly, just the thought of it makes me nervous. It opens up this unpredictable void that no matter how hard I try, I can’t control it. 

Maybe that is why I hate it. Control rules my life, but I need control to function. Every day is the same agenda - wake up, go to school, study, exercise, go to bed. Over, and over again. Over time I have created this sort of perfect schedule that has taken over my mind, my body, my life. Everything I do falls into this idealistic itinerary. I’ve reached the conclusion that only because of control I can succeed, achieve my goals. But what happens when I don't have control? I don’t have control when I get a bad grade. I don’t have control when I push myself too hard and everything falls apart. I don’t have control when silence overwhelms my mind like an unexpected and unknown thought. 

But it’s actually when I lose control, I shine the most. When I get a bad grade it makes me define success in my own terms, not others. When my life seems to fall apart, it only gives me an opportunity to sew the seams of my being together; reinvent myself to fit my own needs. And when silence takes over, it allows me to forget the chaos and unpredictability around and just focus on myself, here and now. 

This desire to control came from the concept of time. The concept that all given tasks have to be completed in a certain frame. Growing up means I have to let go of the fact that I can’t control time, and for that matter, stop letting time control me. I find it so odd that a set of numerical values has this cogent power over me, polluting whatever it comes in contact with. Even though I know time is inevitable, I try so hard to bend it to my will, shaping it to fit my needs. To make sure every detail is perfect and there is not a single hair out of place.

 On the first day of school, I wrote out a minute-by-minute plan of what to do, when to do it, and how long it should take. I’ve built my life around some numbers and a colon. I have to let go of this control, this model routine that I have formulated. But I can’t. I can’t escape this so-called ‘perfect’ ideal, or maybe it’s just that I don’t want to. Maybe it's that I’m scared if I do, I won’t meet my own standards. 

No one expects me to be perfect, except myself. When I was younger I pictured myself as the type of girl who gets good grades effortlessly, everyone knows her name, she’s the type of girl you wish to be - who I wished to be. But if I accept growing up, it means I have to accept the fact that I’m not that perfect girl. I break my back trying to be at the top of my class, and still am not. Not everyone knows my name, and not everyone will. No matter how much I push myself, how many clubs I’m a part of, how many good grades I get, how many friends I have, I know at the back of my mind that I will not be that idealistic girl, and that’s okay. That’s when my humanity shines through and control takes a seat. 

Growing up just means that I have to accept who I am and be my own control. Perhaps growing up isn’t such a bad thing after all.