Till I was 13 I was blissfully ignorant about it. At 17, I had no little or no semblance of it. 21 was when it was fashionable to shirk it. Now, at 24, I don’t know how to deal with it. I’m talking about that 14-letter word that fills every newly inducted adult with a sense of excruciating dread - responsibility.
Ah, those simpler times when responsibility meant doing your homework fast enough so you could play hopscotch with the neighbours. Oh, that period of carefree abandon when being irresponsible only meant submitting college projects a week late and inventing creative excuses to cover it up. Alas, no longer can we protect ourselves in the shroud of youth. Responsibility has risen from its murky depths to rear its ugly head and lock horns with it’s arch nemesis - the hapless young adult.
Now we have things like jobs and stuff; heck, we even have a savings account. Taxes to pay crying out loud. No longer do we have gullible professors to answer to; we have hardnosed bosses who see right through the oft foolproof “I have viral flu.” Even those kindly parents, who once cleaned our poop without a murmur of protest, shriek if we so much as leave a few clothes lying around the house. Some of us are even have spouses - now that’s a whole new level of shit-hitting-the-fan-responsibility.
I think of myself as a fairly responsible person, well, at least amongst my four friends who share the tenacity of being irresponsible. One has a habit of mysteriously losing large wads of cash; another has made it a point to lose every cell phone she ever owned. One bunks office at an alarming frequency and another has a prized collection of overdue bills. So, being the “responsible one” out of the four of us is not something I’m particularly proud of.
I’ve often heard people saying that as you grow older, a sense of responsibility comes naturally. Yes, a sense of responsibility does strike but naturally it does not. It’s like fat ankles - you’re stuck with them, you crib about them, but there’s nothing you can do about them.
It’s overwhelming to think of all things I’m responsible for - my career, my money, my parents, my marriage, my future, my life, myself. At times, I’m in denial. I run and duck for cover when I see responsibility lurking. I can run, but for how long I hide?
I wonder and perhaps the 30-aboves can help me with this - do we fear responsibility more or less as we grow older? Is it something we just get over like first crushes? Does it become second nature or does it forever loom like a hydra-headed monster?
