A page from my journal | On 20s

July 23, 2024

I keep it safe– a gentle reminder that she's my mother and I love her. She, too, will disappear one day, as thin as air, floating with dust and matter. She will leave me only with the memories I cherish most and in spirit, on my shoulder forever.

My 20s are different because I've already lost one parent. I spin an entirely unique narrative of the world, but it is sorely drenched in the tears of grief. The fear of loss colours every moment I'm faced with, for better or worse. Pain sits in every step I take, indoctrinating my state of being. So badly, I want to dismiss it as a symptom of life itself, but no– all of life isn't naturally riddled by grief and despair. This is a path that some are forcibly welcomed onto, for better or worse. I see the world differently not because I choose to, but because my pain has taught me to. They call it learning from the pain; I call it being miserable.

My 20s are meant to be a time to grow, experience, experiment. Instead, I spend them lost in the woods of my own mind, navigating life alongside the untreated wounds that haunt me. I spend my days worrying, masking it as a "drive for future security". I live in a rush, and call it "experiencing life to the fullest!" I take a break, and perceive it as a personal failure. The showoff in me writes it off as being a Type A perfectionist, like it's akin to being a princess. The critic in me writes it off as being extra, unnecessary, crazy, as if the secret solution to all my problems is just less of me. It's a whirlwind, and I've barely begun living.

I want to sigh, "Boy, am I done experiencing this thing called life" , and proceed to sink into a couch for the rest of eternity. They talk about free will and then present me with this dilemma. I've barely crossed the starting line, and I already want to give up.

Everything I've lived for was in preparation for these years, I tell myself. Yes, I too wonder where the pressure comes from. Now, I take baby steps and have hardly enough courage or strength to continue. But I will, I tell myself. Until they rip the resilience out from my chest along with my life, I will turn baby steps into adolescent strides. I will grow into adulthood and only hope to maximize my impact in a positive way. It might sound like a rainbow when I spell it out, but it feels like a drought.

It feels like going against the grain, but the grains are a sharp bed of nails. It's terrifying, like creeping down a dark tunnel, and not knowing what will appear on the other end. In the thickness of uncertainty, it feels like you're spiralling. Sometimes I wonder, is this what it feels like to live a life built on mistakes? Is this where the anxiety comes from?

The scariest part is, I truly don't know. I don't know the answer to that question, and I have no choice but to continue living. And if we're all living like that... it is no wonder the world is the way that it is.

But we continue living. That has to account for something, right? We must be doing something right.

And if we weren't, there would be a sign...right?

My biggest fear is that the signs are staring right at me, and I'm just refusing to look at them. Because that does lead to a life built on mistakes... and my life has only just begun.

I have lived a life in preparation of the future, and now that the future has become the present, the last thing I feel is prepared.

Here's to turning 21 in a week. Cheers.