Memoirs of a kidult
A “kidult” is a term used to describe a person in transition between childhood and adulthood. Yes, that would rather accurately describe me; Sandali (or Sandi to the ones who opt for not mispronouncing my exotic name). The girl who had a Peter Pan themed costume party for her 18th birthday party.
Welcome to page 1 of this journey.
Ever since I can remember I have been fascinated with words. My parents often remind me of how I always had a book in hand, before I had even reached a double digit age. At bedtime I lay awake with the covers over my head whilst my brother snuck in and shone a torch for us. I transported us to the world of Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory and Oompa Loompas and while we giggled, my mother confiscated our sneaky light source and told us off. We did need our sleep for school the next morning. I don’t think it stopped me. To this day Ma concludes that my short-sightedness is due to the assumption that I continued to read in the dark, nuzzling the pages with my little nose. She’s probably right. This along with my eyes glued to the tv screen, in awe of the world of film. Mainly disney films at the time. “At least you look cute in glasses”, she says.
Thanks Ma, I’ll sacrifice the gift of sight for supposed cuteness.
One of my fondest memories was waiting in line for the 6th Harry Potter book with my father. I would chat away about muggles and he would smile his silly grin, with no clue what this eight year old was on about. I would always look forward to English class and unlike how my white friends would be read bedtime stories, I was the one who did the reading for my Sinhalese parents. Despite my father being a mathematics fanboy they were both proud of how I grew up falling in love with the literature world (and despite his numerical love, Ma reminds him that he won her over with his poetry).
Talks of muggles grew in to conversations of Sherlock Holmes, romantic vampires*, being intrigued by Andrei Bolkonsky, laughing at Shakespeare’s Viola and Sebastian and idolising Elizabeth Bennet. My friends tell me of how I have such a poetic outlook on life. Perhaps it’s because I’ve seen more movies than I can count, been writing in a journal since the age of nine, and reading the words of F. Scott. Fitzgerald at sixteen, but I agree. The reading under the covers through the years, shaped said poetic perspective.
Creating images with the combinations of letters is something I enjoy, so here I am writing. It allows me to self reflect, something we can’t do much of in today’s hustle and bustle. I think it will help me make sense of life’s muddles. Exploring the world (both physically and mentally) is something I truly enjoy. I have lived so many lives and adventures in scenes and pages, and now I wish to write on my own adventure.
(How satisfying is this gif?! I’m a handwriting nerd, don’t judge.)
I’m studying at university without my mother greeting me at the end of each day with a (delicious) warm plate of food or reminding me to get enough sleep. I went from cleaning my room to cleaning my apartment (ugh), doing my laundry (double ugh) and paying utility bills (when did this happen?!), whilst simultaneously forming the life long friendships amidst the anatomy exams and flights across Europe. I am deciding whether date night is more important than my embryology notes and whether the city tube strike is an excuse not to attend an 8am class on dermatology. I’m fully responsible. Gah!
Finally, whilst this is all happening, I am trying to be me. I am still the small girl who stays awake reading stories and watching movies. A hardworking student undergoing a rigorous integrated Master’s degree. A responsible older sister and sensible daughter. An old soul beyond her years dissecting life. As well as simultaneously being the complete nutcase who falls over at least twice a day, dances until 6am, eats popcorn for breakfast, and spontaneously books a flight to Spain to see her best friend… in the middle of a lecture. I am trying to be me. Trying to stay true to a person I don’t even know I am yet.
So here goes. My stories and profound thoughts, on all matter of things, escape the pages of my journal.
How scary. How exciting.
Sandali’s reveries. The reflections, travels and memoirs of a kidult.
*My father even bought me the copies of Twilight in German as I was studying for my German GCSE at the time. Nothing like romance in German?! “ICH LIEBE DICH EDVVAARD!”
Let’s just say, the movies weren’t the only thing that ruined Twilight for me.