Sometimes I think that I stress myself too much. Sometimes, though, I think I’m being overly lax and uncaring. Worrying about the latter stresses me further. Which is why I think I’m more than a little nuts.

I was riding a jeepney to work the other day when I overheard this group of 12- to 13-year-old girls talking about the best day to cut classes. One of them, the smallest of the lot, pointed to a restaurant-bar and proudly told her friends “That’s where we got drunk the other day.”  I eyed her for a few seconds, possibly with a condescending look on my face, and I had to shake my head because these kids look like they’re just starting to worry about acne treatments and yet they are proudly discussing their own misbehaviors in public. They made me feel old. None the wiser, maybe, about misbehaving, but I think I’ve done my time.  It made me thankful, just for a bit, that I do not have a child: I probably would have gone back home to stress myself with more useless worries.

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