Not retarded.

I've always considered myself a late bloomer. 'Late', not because I don't observe basic rules of punctuality, but because I'm, on average, behind everyone on the scale of life. I'm among the eldest of my group of friends, but everyone seems to get ahead of me in every field (including financial, social and romantic).

As such, I'm often considered, in some cases, a little childish or retarded. I don't have my driver's license yet, I don't drink, I don't like clubbing, and let's not get into the matter of my emotional life or any of its facets. Until recently, fashion hardly interested me, I don't aspire to superstardom (especially not in the music industry, in spite of the fact that I'm a fair singer) and I was considered like what people call a garçon-manqué (failed boy). It didn't bother me. Being stereotypically feminine or highly average are concepts that have always repulsed me.

What kind of bothers me is how, once I do catch up with others, all I get as a response is an underhanded comment that translates to, "Huh, it took you THAT long?"

I don't let things get to me. I can easily let things slip. But I'll admit this irks me a little. Couldn't they insinuate something nicer, like, "Well, okay, welcome to the club?"

Just because I show sudden taste in the matter of clothing (and good taste, too, backed-up by the best sources out there) doesn't mean I have to be discarded as an unreliable source because of my previous lack of interest. Especially not when I AM CLEARLY CORRECT.

See, this is what upsets me. I'm a late bloomer. Yes, I'm 'late', in just about every field of my life. I can freely attest to that, heck, even gain pride from it.

But there's another part of that term.

'Bloomer'. Not the undergarment side of it.

I'm late, but I bloom.

Jazz, my cousin, once swore to me that she had never met a child like me. So silent and closed-off, I used to be. She said that when I first walked, I did it without help, on my birthday, even though no one knew when or where I'd learned to do it, like I'd practiced in secret. When I first spoke, I did it in such an erudite and articulated way that my parents wondered where I'd had time to train myself.

When my mother found out I understood and spoke English fluently, it came as a shock to her: she found out one afternoon, when she came to fetch me at school earlier than usual, and I was conversing with a playmate in the schoolyard in perfect English, when the only language they used at home was French.

After that, I slowed down. I stopped moving as quickly as everyone else, going at my own pace in everything. That's why, when I reached my early teens, everyone was already into the blushing and boyfriend-snatching fits, whereas I just wanted to talk about Mario with the guys.

Does that mean I'm retarded? Puh-lease.

Of course not. I'm a late-bloomer. I take my time, learn stuff properly, in secret, and then I start using my sourced, tried-and-true knowledge, out of the blue, once I've gotten it all down pat.

This either upsets people or disconcerts them, often because I suddenly outdo them, when they weren't expecting me to.

Guess they'll have to get around to it.

I'm a late-bloomer: I might be late, but I will always bloom.

Love,
CM