“Happy birthday,” she said.
My birthday passed as swiftly as usual, but unusually this one felt different. My environment was different, could that be the source of my unease? Oh, could it have been because my family wasn’t here? No. I think it was me, I think I have changed. This birthday felt empty, yet accomplished. This birthday was the anniversary of my first year of adulthood.
Growing up, and getting old.
There’s something energizing in the essence of growing up. Birthdays are urgent, the want for responsibility daring, and time flies without much warning. Birthdays became like achievement levels, unlocking a wave of impatience for the next. Once, there was a spring in my step as I dashed along the timeline of life. I achieved each milestone and unlocked every year as quickly as I could. Now in my new age, I find I do not have the steam to do so.
Nineteen, my last teen year.
Since childhood, I have wanted to be an adult. I made detailed plans of my steps toward years now gone by, years which went awry of my juvenile expectations. I was supposed to be an engineering student by now, I was supposed to be desperately in love with a fiancé — and I was supposed to be put together. These expectations were so-called dreams, which would fill my life with success, marking me with the praise I had yearned for in the naivety of my yesteryear.
Ignorant kid, there is so much more to life than praise.
Now thrown into the whim of adulthood, these dreams seem so unrealistic and unattainable. Where did all the time go? Did I ever even enjoy this? How do I balance everything? Though an “adult” for hardly a year, I have learned you simply cannot. You cannot control time, you cannot enjoy something solely for praise and you cannot balance a life devoid of true direction.
For passion I seek, and fulfillment I will meet.
I’ll remember the hunger I used to have for my career. I’ll remember the ambitious nights of study. Maybe I’ll remember the awards. But will I regret it? We fight and work to finally relax, to finally pursue our passions and to earn freedom. “I’ll wait until I’m retired, I don’t need to vacation.” “I don’t have time for love.” “I just have to get through this year.” And while there is a need for hardworking drive, there is more of a need for hardworking passion.
To love or not to love, that is the question.
What do I love? I am not an engineer. I am a writer, a writer who still loves math nonetheless, but seeks it for more than external praise. Language defrosts some buried desire within me that I cannot ignore. Maybe that is what appealed to me in math. The breathable, provable language of the universe. Who do I love? I love my people, I love the ones who make me feel at home and I love who makes me feel I do not need to rush. How do I love? Through the trials of life, it becomes difficult to love. But, perhaps that is the point: to love continuously despite the rocky turbulence which grows a deeper sacrificial love.
Getting old, but growing up.
There’s something romantic about getting old. Happy birthdays may dwindle as people grow apart. My drive for success may slowly dissipate. And years of experience may place wedges in relationships. But, as time flies some still stay. This year and the next I know they will wish me a happy birthday at midnight without hesitation. I know that even if I change, even if my values shift, and even if I rebuke all that I have just said, getting older with all of you is something I will never regret.
At midnight, my hometown best friend texted “Happy Birthday!”
