ADULT-IATOR

September 09, 2026 | 6:00 P.M.

LITERARY: FICTION CATEGORY

If I could have a bar of gold every time an adult reminds me of how good childhood is compared to adulthood, I would be as wealthy as the diamond rains of Neptune.

“You make your lifelong friends during childhood.” One would say. “You don’t have to worry about bills and payments.” The other would chime in. “Your high school days? The best years of your life, and nothing will compare!” The third would exclaim. 

It was as if I was being armed with wooden spears and rusty chainmail, for the inevitable confrontation of this gigantic beast called adulthood.  

All throughout my childhood, I felt a lingering sense of disappointment and anticipatory grief. Was this it? Would the once-in-a-while fun moments, lunch table gossip, and fun art projects and performances be the peak of my approximately century-long life? 

That was quite bland. How it all climaxed at the beginning, and the rest would become filler. 

But alas, as I eat the last bite of ambrosia, I prepare for the inevitable wrinkling, stress, and struggles that everyone has been warning me about.

The master of ceremonies calls my name as the doors to the colosseum stage open, light rushing in and overwhelming my sight. 

Here I was, numb and ready. Whatever hits me out there is something that I have already feared and mulled over at night. I am armed by my own sadness, my heart guarded by paranoia and fear, clinging to what might be the only happy memories I will ever have.

A gladiator of nostalgia. 

I take my spear, exhale, and run outside.

I could hear the beast before I could see it, the grounds echoing with its growl. I prepare to leap, aiming my spear towards the source of the sound, preparing to strike as my vision becomes clear–

It was a parrot.

I dodge and roll out of the way, my spear taking the brunt of an impact.

My eyes open. 

I was not in an arena, but a field instead. The field stretched for acres, broken by a distant tree line full of colorful leaves and wood.

The growls and screams of a beast were no more than an echo from a parrot. A reflection of the fear of others before me, but not a guarantee that mine will make the same sound.

Thousands of paths are laid out by a plethora of pebbles, intertwining with the woods beyond. They call my name silently, not to persuade, but to acknowledge its own existence. They had no rails, signs, or lights; only freedom remained.

I look at my chainmail, unlinked and shattered by my fall. I look at my spear, broken in half by the impact. My paranoia and guard will not fare in this land, it tells me. I shall choose a path instead, and create adventures and climaxes to fill the rest of my story.

I began to walk, leaving the parrot with the broken chainmail and weapon. I prepared myself for the treeline as I walked. There will be many battles, with the same beasts that the parrot echoed. But there would be fireflies and fruit-bearing trees to aid and reward me. It will be a balance, and it will be quite a story. 

This was the end of a chapter, after all, and not the end. 

Written by: Janah Miel L. Laura/ UST Nursing Journal