I was 20 yesterday.
And believe me, spending a year knowing you’re already on the second decade of your life wasn’t as grand and pleasing as you’ve always thought and pictured it to be— you’d see that the world just indeed got a little crueler, and you ain’t even getting any tougher; and just when you thought that entering the new chapter in your life would make you all figured out, you’d just find yourself as lost as the dried leaf on the pavement trying to get by the wind. Funny, wasn’t it? Funny how you’d feel like you were already tired of everything when in fact, you were actually just on the beginning. Well, maybe they were right: life begins at 40. But then, halfway before you even reach it—at 20, maybe you’d just be a lost soul trying to find a light that would convince you that it’s all gonna be alright and worth it in the end. Hopefully.
Now, at 21, I still don’t get really quite sure of what lies ahead; I’ll never really know, I guess. Maybe it’ll all be just the same as when I was 20 — only a year older. Maybe it won’t be grand just like how it used to be. Or maybe it won’t still be the best year of my life, and that’s just okay. Because whether I realize that I’m still quite secretly in love with my highschool classmate; whether I get to find out that I won’t still find the right love for me; whether I realize that I’m still as uncertain as ever with all the decisions I’ve made; whether the people I choose still won’t choose me; whether I meet another set of jerks again; whether I make new friends; whether I disappoint more people for not graduating on time; whether I feel a little lot useless again; whether my hair is still as frizzy as ever; whether my birthday is still my favorite day of the year; or whether I realize that writing birthday essays doesn’t really make sense, it doesn’t really matter. Every year, you get a cake, you blow the candle, you make a wish, and you just have to live on even if life seems to be not getting any better. I guess that’s just how it is. That’s how you somehow become tough. That’s how it all becomes worth it.
You know, sometimes, I really like to believe that even just on rare occasions like this, maybe the world deserves to know you; or perhaps, you deserve to tell how you lived and learned in this world.
Especially when you were 20.
Happy birthday, self. Happy 21st.