I can’t recall which day it was, but I remember how warm the sun felt on the way to Salinas the weekend after I turned twenty-four. I remember getting off the freeway because Apple Maps directed us to do so, and I complained about having to get back on Interstate 101 amidst an influx of traffic after the app misled us. We blasted music as we always do, pulled the windows down to let the air circulate around us, and sang along to the songs we’d play as we slowly made our way to the destination.
We had just spent the last couple of days celebrating the fact that we turned twenty-four and twenty-six respectively, enjoying what little time we had left before our summer ended as the fall semester of school was quickly arriving. I can’t remember how long the drive took but I can recall the outfit I wore that day, how the sunny weather quickly turned into a gray sky once we reached Santa Cruz, and feeling the looming clouds of anxiety become more apparent as we edged closer to our journey’s end.
We finally arrive and all I can think of is the fact that I’m ascending the stairs that lead up to the room where my friend is staying in, and I excuse myself to use the restroom before I have to head back home. I’m wishing for time to slow down momentarily because I’m not ready for this adventure to end; I want to continue living in the present because that’s how I feel when I’m around someone I love, but I’m suddenly back in her room as we begin to say our farewells amidst a somber stillness. I feel like a burden as I consciously prolong the farewell by lingering around and making small talk; finding any excuse to make this moment last a little longer before I have to get back to the reality of life where things aren’t always a rush of excitement but rather an array of conundrums. I’ve turned a year older and I’m too prideful to admit that I’m scared of what the future holds, but the question my friend asks makes the lump in my throat that had been forming throughout the entire car ride explode.
“How are you feeling?”
I am staring directly in front of me at the open closet full of clothes, feeling the lump come up as my vision begins to blur. I’m trying to hide the emotion behind my words and treading carefully with the delivery of my sentiments so as to not showcase any weakness, but it’s too late for the tears begin to come out as I look away in shame, “I just… I just feel like twenty-four is going to be the loneliest year of my life.”
How do I soothe the anxieties of a girl who's turning twenty-four? I use the term “girl” instead of “woman,” because even though my prefrontal cortex is almost fully developed I still feel as though I am a child. However, instead of hopefully looking towards a bright future like I used to when I was younger, it seems as though nihilism has overtaken my body at the tender age of twenty-four to make me fearful. Things didn't go as I had planned them to be when I was a more self-assured child; I was too naive and believed life would happen for me, not to me, but I am now realizing that the trajectory of my supposed future is now lagging behind a nonexistent present.
How do I accept the fact that I’ve let a younger version of myself down? It is a reality I do not want to face, because in accepting the fact that I did not reach the milestone of being an independent adult by the age of twenty-five would mean I failed to make myself proud. A reality in which my dreams do not materialize has been my biggest fear yet ultimate driving force, and I am living a life in which I am in a constant state of limbo; between two different outcomes where I will either succumb to defeat or succeed in achieving my every desire. I am afraid of having to face my shortcomings, of not reaching my fullest potential, of being ordinary, but most of all I fear facing my inner child empty handed with nothing to show for after all these years of wishful thinking.
I should have figured this out sooner.
A misconception that I’ve adopted as a belief which swirls in my mind during dissociative moments where I begin to feel misplaced. It keeps me up at night as I reflect over everything that has led up to the present, and a sense of anxiety is felt as I realize how quickly time is passing by. I am reluctantly undergoing the inevitable phenomena in which the child becomes an adult, maturing in a way that forces me to lose touch with past versions of myself that will never again reappear. It feels as though I am learning lessons too late in life, grieving the loss of experiences and relationships I know I will never get to relive, all while simultaneously losing parts of myself to the point where I am becoming unrecognizable. It is a metamorphosis of sorts, one I never prepared to undergo much less expected to, but it has posed as a challenge throughout these last couple of months of being twenty-four.
There are days where my mind begins to wander and I get so tired to the point of wanting to runaway from it all again. I want to live in a place elsewhere, removed from everything and everyone I know, become a complete stranger in a big city, and redefine myself to the point of anonymity… but I can’t. I am not as young as I used to be, the years are going by fast now, and I am at the stage of my life where I need to pay my dues regardless of my never ending desire to escape a version of myself that is different from what I envisioned as a child.
Despite my anguish there is a part of me that emerges out of my subconscious in arbitrary resonant periods, and it causes my heart to swell with so much warmth to the point where I desire to believe in something sacred. No matter how much I want to succumb to my despair there is a part of me that holds onto the idea of hope as I relentlessly imagine a brighter future. It is the only sentiment I am able to recognize during those dejected phases, and I stubbornly hold onto it the minute my entire being recognizes what will begin to ensue. It is a phenomena that is as warm as the sun’s embrace amidst an ocean breeze, as comforting as the feeling of freshly washed linen sheets, and as beautiful as blue sky-filled mornings that make you look forward to being alive. When I begin to question what it’s all for, if I’ll manage to get through something that is indescribable yet feels so heavy at times, I close my eyes to reminisce and dream:
I am still the child who’d get her knees all banged up from playing in the backyard her with cousins and older brother. I am still the child who’d sneak into her parents bedroom every Sunday morning just to tuck herself in between them. I am still the tomboy that’d roughhouse too much and hated being a girl. I am still the teenager who’d delicately sit on the loving lap of my fragile grandmother during those warm family vacations to Mexico in the winter. I am still seventeen watching the sunset with my childhood best friend as we sit on the roof of our old elementary school in the spring. I am still eighteen and afraid of the future but hopeful for something that materializes three years later. I am still nineteen staying out late with my girlfriends, happily going around everywhere and nowhere because I was with people I loved. I am still the twenty-one year old who’d fall asleep to the sound of crickets at night after ecstatically jumping on the bed in her own apartment within the Southern Californian city of her dreams. I will always be twenty-two sitting alongside the Malibu coast in a patterned blue and white two-piece bikini, catching the sun’s rays for the very last time as I savour sugary sliced strawberries and mangoes during a bittersweet phase in my life. I am still the twenty-three year old girl that ran along the beach at night in Monterey on the evening of her birthday and felt alive for the first time after a palpable heartbreak.
I will always be twenty-four, lamenting over events that have occurred throughout the span of my lifetime late at night while the world is asleep. I will always be twenty-four dancing to Aerosmith’s “Sweet Emotion” inside the restroom of a bar, laughing over the absurdity of our behaviors with the same friend who saw me at my most vulnerable. I will always be twenty-four, experiencing moments where I am reminded of childhood memories entailing playgrounds and swing sets, except this time I am in a different country altogether convincing a stranger to swing alongside me late at night in Villa Borghese. I will always be twenty-four overlooking the California coastline alongside Highway 1, coming into the sudden realization that life can feel good again. I will always be twenty-four, laying down on the sand atop a towel as I peacefully stare at the blue ocean, intermittently closing my eyes to listen to the waves crash and taking in the moment on a random weekday afternoon. I will always be twenty-four taking the necessary steps to properly care for my well being. I will always be twenty-four learning what it means to practice self-compassion for the first time. I will always be twenty-four reminding myself of the fact that I’ll be okay, because I am still the child who’s always been determined to make her own path in life.
I am still the child who’d read books all day long and imagined fantasies in her head.
I am still the girl who’d dream of her ideal future.
I am just a girl, but I’m slowly becoming an adult woman.
Will I be okay?
I’ll be okay
I’ll be okay
I’ll be okay
I’ll be okay.
I promise.
