Ok, I know this is a bit of a strange topic to be talking about so if it doesn't resonate with you and you think I'm crazy, go ahead — you're probably right. Isn't it weird to be young? That is to say, young in two different ways. One is the literal one: we haven't been alive long. The other is the tricky one, where it's like we're in this... cocoon. Not that we're as useless as a Metapod — more that I (I would say 'we' but that would be a bold claim) have no idea what the heck is going on. Emotions are strange, the future is strange, social life is strange, physics is strange (well, to some extent) — it's a hell of a time to be alive and living the human experience. I'm tired and the writing is crappy so I *might* come back and edit this but chances are that I won't. If you're reading this message right now, the post has not been edited so it is currently brain vomit status. --- This story begins with our school's musical theatre performance, dated the same day as this post's publication. Many of my good friends performed; many of their performances had me dancing along in laughter and tears. (No, seriously, if you were a performer, I'm telling the truth. It was amazing.) My dad drives on the way home; I'm in the passenger's seat. He's filling up the space like he usually does, talking about the parent council meeting, the weather, why he can't drive me to school tomorrow, and before long the euphoria wears off — my face was getting sore from all of the smiling. I don't know what brings it on, but he brings up our trip to New York when I was maybe six. Looking upon the massive city from the Empire State Building, pointing out all of the places we visited using the binoculars I could only reach on my tippy-toes — watching Spiderman on Broadway with people flying on ropes over our heads — finding the stuffy I had brought with me in the garbage can of our hotel, smelling of soy sauce and instant noodles — As I sit in the passenger's seat. We talk about all of the promises I made as a child and am unlikely to keep. Silence follows. I think about the guilt I feel at wanting to leave, at wanting to turn away from everything that my parents have given me and head into the world, go somewhere I will learn something of value and hopefully find a job and see them twice or three times a year. "Remember when you promised that you would let us visit you, but at *most* twice a year since you'd be busy?" he asks, half-jokingly, but I'm not sure how seriously to take it. "Does the deal still stand?" I don't know what to say, so he continues. "So at the parent council meeting, we were talking about how by this time next year, all of your university applications will be finished." I still don't know what to say, but this time it's because I'm too confused and afraid and excited. "Can you imagine that? Wow, Alex — In two years, only God knows where you'll be." Only God knows. After all, I'm just sitting right here — In the passenger's seat.