Χρόνος

Alanis sung "do you realize guys I was born in 1974?" (UR). Yes, that was a good year, but I was born in 1981 and I think it is the best. At least for an Spaniard.
Along my life I have always been surrounded by older people. Most of the people my age seemed to me as being stuck in some kind of large kindergarten. Being with "elders" have made me feel very young. Obvious, when you are the youngest of a party and the next one is nine years ahead, you feel little. But, somehow, with the years, this feeling has changed and become a natural feeling. I now feel comfortable with my age. When I was a child everyone would tell me "oh, you are too young to understand - you weren't born yet - you'll learn when you grow up" (everyone has been told that at some point, but my sister, the one who used to say that non stop, is eight years older, and, eight years, for a pre-teen, is way too long to wait) or such. Now it is me who says, "hey, guys, I was born in 1981 - I'm only 25, you see - d'u mean, before I was born, when everything was black and white?". As we say in Spanish, I have turned the tortilla upside down.
I am happy with my age. I am happy with myself. My life is great. Is it? No, my world has fallen apart.
Few days ago, I would walk in the street feeling fine, nice, no problem; now, I just feel that life is so passing me by.
My "older" friends tell me how bad they feel with their tick-tacking and their ageing. I used to say, hey, that's not such a big-a deal. As per how I feel now, with my cute twenty-somethings, I don't think I will feel bad about my thirties. If now I don't care about how I look, about my going bald (genetics), about fashion and such, all those things that my age-mates care so much about, I don't see why in five years time this has to change.
But now, now everything is different.
My sister, the old %&?"!, told me the other day that I had a gray hair. What am I saying, I have. But not only one but three of them. On top, she said it in front of a cute guy.
My entire world fell apart. I am used to my old friends telling me, oh, Habibi, you are certainly going bald. But now, this, I can't bare. I ran to the bathroom to check in the mirror and there they were. Three - horrible - gray - hairs.
OMG! Wha: - what am I supposed to do now? My entire life of not accepting my youth, and then being happy with my exact age has blown out. I haven't had that much time to be happy with it, to enjoy it. Now I am definitely growing old. Before, I was growing mature, wise, or whatever (stupid?) but now I am growing old.
The times of staying up all night have passed away. The times of not going to the hospital for a bit of cough have gone. Now, senility and that's all.
I am growing old. I must start to accept.
If you need me, I'll be listening to the radio news and knitting.

[At least, it seems that I can't lose my gray hairs – so, they are very welcome then.]