I think I’ve said it a few times now, but I don’t see myself reaching the age of 50.

There are times where I imagine myself getting to 100, though. I don’t know why, but I just can’t picture it.

I’ve had visions of having children, and that’s what terrifies me. I’m scared of not having stories available to them. I think that karma is going to get back and have me live to 100. All because I don’t want to. Even to this point, I feel like I’ve lived a reasonably good life. God has been good to me. I’ve made a ton of mistakes, and I have paid for them pretty quickly. I have done a lot of good, and I’ve received it in abundance. I’m blessed. I think that if I were to live to 100 years, I would probably tell my kids the shortened version of my life pretty quickly. It goes a little something like this.

I was five.

I thought the world revolved around me. I pictured that God and everyone in heaven would sit and start watching my life play out, laughing at the moments I made some awkward moves and cried when they saw me have happy moments I would remember for the rest of my life. I thought that no sort of bad existed in the world, and I felt that my parents were soulmates. I was as innocent as a kid as ever. I started speaking English regularly. I was scared of being picked on in school, so I avoided speaking Spanish. I wanted to be friends with everyone, but I was too shy to stand out. I got a crush on my first white girl, and she tied my shoe once. I wrote about her in my D.O.L journal, and my teacher read my entry. She told me that wasn’t what I was supposed to be doing. Instead, I should follow the instructions. The girl’s name was Sarah. She didn’t like me back.

I was seven.

I was the king of four-square. I was pretty fast, but I couldn’t run very long distances. I loved hanging with my pops and my mom in the backyard. I would ditch my friends to play with them. They were growing through a bit of a rough patch. I was trying to make sure I did everything possible to make sure they were together. I had a crush on the same girl for four years, but I never told her anything. I was afraid that she wouldn’t like me back. I told my parents about her. They teased me saying she was my girlfriend, and I would say that it was gross out loud. In my head, I thought that would be the greatest thing ever. She kissed me under the bridge at recess. Her name was Yesenia. I hardly ever saw her after 4th grade.

I was twelve.

I was in middle school. I went to a different middle school than most of my friends. People at my bus stop started doing bad things like getting into fights and smoking. I was scared to walk home on my own. Some of my close friends began joining fake gangs and would miss school often. I got in a fight with a kid, and my parents made me hang out with him on a Friday night. He was pretty cool. His name was William. He said I was one of his only friends. I got made fun of for being his homie. It didn’t help me make new friends. Most of the girls in school were white and were taller. I like a girl named Karol. I don’t think she ever knew I existed. I saw her with a baby at Target once when I got older. I think she recognized me, but I never said hi.

I was fifteen.

I went to a completely different high school. I made friends with a kid that told me he didn’t have papers. He was the first kid to talk to me when I focused on my mp3 player. His name was Abimael. My parents were completely different people. They were making progress, but my dad was a little more grumpy. They were in their prime. I made a MySpace. Yesenia from second grade added me. She made it to my top eight. Yesenia invited me to her birthday party, right by my house. Angie was Yesenia’s friend. We dated for a few years. I thought I was ready to get married. I experienced teenage love. The most dangerous love that I’ve ever felt to this day. I had no idea what I was doing. I had my first kiss by mistake. We watched Spider-Man 3. I had to rewatch the movie afterward. Life was great.

I was eighteen.

I ditched school for the first time. I still graduated with my honors diploma. I was the first in my family to graduate high school. My parents were getting better at being parents. I didn’t understand that then. They let me mess up without putting much input. I knew it all. Angie was dating someone else. I didn’t want to feel heartbreak again. I thought I would just date girls and be shallow. I wanted to be a heartbreaker. I picked a girl only to have a fling with and became a complete tool. The universe couldn’t have been more clear. I experienced heartbreak over and over. I was never going to be good at being the heartbreaker. Prom sucked.

I was twenty-one.

I broke up with the girl I should’ve married right then. I was ready to see what the world had in store for me. I was never so unsure of anything in my entire life. I drank a lot. I didn’t want to settle down. I was ready to be free. I visited the city of New York for the first time. I went by myself. Experiencing that sort of freedom was the best and worst thing I could have done. These are the years I remember the least. I stayed busy just to say I was working. I spent money on just about everything and anything. I didn’t care about the future. I wouldn’t have been a good parent. I’m not sure how my dad did it at that age. He would be a dad at twenty-two. Why would anyone willingly want to do that? I was privileged. I had nobody and only thought about her. 

I was twenty-five.

Quarter-life crisis. Where did the time go? Who was I becoming, and who had I become? All of these questions start coming up. Ambition is a curse at this point. How was I supposed to reach the levels I wanted to now? Would I end up alone? Was I going to have to settle? These were some of the darkest thoughts I ever had. So I traveled and traveled some more. I wasn’t about to get sucked into those thoughts. I did things I never thought I could do. I ran my first half marathon on the day of my 25th birthday. I learned about “The Marathon.” I was inspired. I was ready to get going. I’m still prepared.

I’m still unsure of what the rest of these years will bring, but I expect to have a much better story for my kids and their kids. I don’t know if I’ll be lucky enough to reach one hundred. If I’m so fortunate, I want to make sure it counts for something.