Twentysomething Years Old
As soon as I turned the big Two-Oh, I stopped actively counting my age.
I was vaguely aware of it of course — it did probably help that I was born in the year 2000, so my age would always match the last two digits of the current year. Despite all that — I did catch myself from time to time having tiny lapses of brain fog when people asked my age — like the weird thing people over forties do as they need to stop, think and even calculate how old they are. My mom took it a step further as she did a more bizarre thing — she asked me how old would she be this year a few months before her birthday in September.
However, unlike my mom and the other old folks do, I realized the brain fog to me is less about forgetting how old I was after so many years — but more about the disbelief that I am now not as young as I thought I was. I am now a real adult with responsibilities and bills to pay. Suddenly our age is more than just a requirement to buy a drink or enter a casino (that I haven’t had the chance to visit, despite having been legal for years!) — it is now a reminder of the responsibilities we carry.
What is more, our age is also a representation of the things we should achieve at a certain point in life — and hence also a reminder of the things we have not. This is, perhaps, the most uncomfortable thing about getting older. We are less grateful of how much we achieved in the past year — instead we are more hyper-aware of the things we haven’t been able to achieve, despite being “old enough” to do so. In popular culture, we should graduate college by 21–22, young professionals should have at least 100 million for savings before they hit 25 to be deemed successful, and girls should get married between 24–30 (because apparently, we age like milk and not wine *insert virtual eye roll*).
It probably didn’t help to have too much social media exposure full of people celebrating these milestones, as we get increasingly more agitated seeing yet another graduation pic, another “inspiring sharing session” from people who “made it” in life, another engagement party, or even a baby shower for the second baby. To the people posting it, it might be nothing more than an innocent life update or an attempt to keep a digital archive — but to the rest of us, sometimes it serves as yet another reminder of how things “should be” at a certain point in life, and thus we can’t help but feel a bit behind if we deviate from it. It’s crazy how much stress we feel just from the sheer assumption that all important life milestones should be achieved during our twenties.
For that reason, I think our twenties will be the most volatile time of our lives — like the megathrust, so to speak. And just like how the megathrust is caused by the shift of tectonic plates — there will be lots of uncomfortable shifts that happens during this time. We may spend the first five years company-hopping to find the best fit. We may start our first business venture, only to fail and lose years of savings before turning back around. We may break up with our boyfriend or girlfriend after years of thinking they’re “The One”. We may lose touch with our friends, and we may grow distant with our parents because suddenly hanging out too much with them seemed “uncool”. These shifts will often leave a disastrous trail in their wake, as we lose ourselves throughout, over and over again.
Last Friday — I turned twentysomething (nope, not going to say the exact number because then you’ll start dictating if I should graduate college, reach a certain number in my savings plan, get married or have kids). I am now much more aware and far more accepting of the uncomfortable shifts that will inevitably happen in life. And thus, in return, I find myself being much more appreciative of the constants — which are the people who sticks around through thick and thin. This, I realized, is what should be the true measure of success of being twentysomething years old. A good friend of mine once said: “A man who is successful is a man who succeeds in his relationships.” Only now do I realize what he truly meant as it sinks in: connections matter. People matter. And that’s probably all that truly matters.
I am incredibly blessed to have been surrounded by people who truly cared about me, and is always sincerely rooting for me — no matter how sometimes we might fail to show up for catch ups or important life milestones like engagement parties or baby showers. We might see each other less and less, our texts and emails might be shorter over time — but deep down, we know we’ll always be there for each other. Just like the words of a wise man: “Good friends are like stars — you can’t always see them, but you know they’re always there.”
And so, to those who chose to stick around every day: Thank you for being my constant. Thank you for being my stars.
