Aging.

Life is passing me through.

As I inhale, and exhale, as my breathe joins the clogged fog outside the window by misting up the glass in front of me, Life is happening. What are people doing? I wonder quietly. What am I doing? waiting for the teacher to arrive, I guess. Waiting, generally, I realize. 

Waiting for this day to be over, so I can get back home and rest.

Waiting for the week to be over, so this very much expected trip comes along and I get to have fun and party with some friends. Expecting very much my vacation with my family. Expecting the new year. Hoping for a future that looks much brighter than my present. Getting a master's degree. Moving out. Getting married and having kids. Staying busy, basically.

But I'm forgetting to live, am I not? In all this...waiting; scared of getting fat again, without enjoying my new figure; terrifyed over the idea of aging and losing my atractive, not savouring every smile that traces a wrinkle in my skin. Not taking in account the strenght and the power of this body to which I own everything; this body that did not fade out in spite of everything I put him through. Despite being deprived of food and sleep, despite the constant stress, my muscles can still stand up and support this very heavy weights I'm always carrying around, my mind still wants to keep on learning, stay busy, curious and alive, even when I don't feel very much so.

I guess I should be more grateful to my faith and circumstances. But I sight, impregnating the glass again with warm steam. Contemplating the slow, irritating movement of people under my feet, wondering how a different life might feel like.