When I was a child, the new year's activity for my family is dumpling-making, but it's been years since I've last experienced the uniquely carefree comfort and connection I felt during moments. My family has changed a lot, and gatherings like these simply don't come together with the same ease as they once did.
This year, I came home in the evening to a dark house with pieces missing. I noticed things that I wouldn't have before, like how my family slept earlier and got up later and how my dog had more trouble jumping up on my bed. After all, it's easier to become blind to its subtle changes when you occupy it virtually every day of the year, and much harder when you must be exposed to months of accumulated change all at once.
Personally, the most precious childhood privilege is not the free extra snacks from flight attendants, but the privilege of thinking of the people and relationships around you with a sense of permanence. I mean this in the sense that it escaped my eight-year-old brain to think about how my parents were aging as I did or about the sacrifices they made for me until suddenly, I was an adult as they were.
I turn 20 in a couple months, so I've been seized with a feeling of adulthood, which feels far stronger than the transition into legal adulthood at 18 ever felt. It seems as if the "teen" part of"19"keeps me attached to the same category as the one my newly 13-year-old self occupied, carrying with it a certain comfort in the social allowances made for the immaturity inherent (固有的) to youth. But marching into 20 is different.
I'd so desperately wanted to move away and get a taste of independence upon starting college, but now I know that such freedom comes with loss and responsibility. Now I start to understand the governance of a circularity (循环) inherent to our lives and have a newfound appreciation for the things that remain the same.