Araby(James Joyce): Growing up

Growing up

  When the short days of winter came, dusk fell before I had well eaten a dinner. The street and the houses grew somber as the evening deepened in the avenue. The space of sky above me was the color of ever-changing violet and towards it, the lamps of the street lifted their feeble lanterns. When the street started to glow by the falling sun and the voices of the kids faded beyond the twilight, I went out on the doorstep to call my brother in for his tea.

  And there was this boy, who always hid back the door and watching me come and go in a distance. He often followed my way to the store, covering his face with an old brown book named ‘Dubliners,’ which should’ve been an action that required great courage. He seems like a bashful and innocent child whose cheeks might have easily turned into rose-petal red.

  The first conversation I had with him was about the bazaar in Araby. It was the place that I was the most obsessed in at that time because the stories from merchants made me had such fantastic image about the place. Colorful shop windows with all sorts and kinds of items, a tussle between the merchant and a broker, sand cloud rising under the passengers’ footsteps, crowd of unflagging people under the meridian sun talking and moving incessantly… The liveliness of the scene was already depicted so vividly inside my head. Since I couldn’t go, he said he will be there and bring something for me.

  When he came back from the short trip to the bazaar, he had nothing in his hand. Instead, he more seemed like a different person. It was not simply because he felt tired after the trip. There was certainly something more than that. He had that old and gloomy feeling in his dark blue eyes as if he was a grown-up. At that point, I started to feel a sense of incompatibility from him and forgot about asking him how was it like: Maybe he had entered the wrong side of the bazaar – or had never been there at all.

  Youth is the most beautiful and flourishing stage of life. Youth is allowed to avoid reality and believe in the illusion of a colorful fantasy world. Youth can believe that the world is full of virtue and beauty. Youth can do something great like breaking an arm during a voyage at the playground, or hanging around the empty street from dusk till dawn. In the town, only the laughing voices of the kids turn the street of black and white into the palette of shades and lights.

  On the other hand, becoming an adult means that every joy and happiness of life will suddenly be taken away. The adult should get rid of those sweet daydreams and fantasies and adjusted its gaze to the harsh reality. So many things are restricted under the label of the adult. So many things should be learned to become an adult. They cannot go out and play without being aware of the passage of time. They should get up early in the morning to waste time looking at dizzy numbers and making boring phone calls. They should be responsible for everything and never allowed to make mistakes. Worst of all, they should hide our real opinion or feeling but pretend to be like something else.

  Every morning when I came out on the doorstep, he wasn’t there watching me as usual. His shadow no longer chased me when I walked through the hall to buy breakfast. He never spoke to me again, not even a few casual words. I sometimes feel curious about the bazaar, but I felt there’s too much to lose to sacrifice my precious youth for the sake of reality, not yet.

  As it was getting dark, I set out on my return towards home. It was a long walk, and I arrived when the light from the lamp opposite my house started to get lit. Orange, gold, and red flames of setting sun were making the street and my body glow. I once more looked back at his house in a deep grey and blue and went inside my house, gently closing the door behind.