“I could chose to fight with all these finance bros.. or try my best to make a rich guy fall in love with me ; and both options are looking pretty hopeless now.” As I stepped out of the sleek, nine-story glass-windowed office building in the heart of London, I recorded a voice message for my best friend. My hand throbbed from the bruises I’d inflicted on myself, pinching to soothe my anxiety over the last three hours.
I attended a career networking event today, and a wave of fear for the future washed over me.
“I did four internships this summer!” a guy in a dark blue puffer vest said. “I’m the career officer for my university,” said the girl with a sleek ponytail. “I’ve received an offer from this consulting company,” chimed in a guy with a designer shoulder bag. As I awkwardly stepped into the circle of conversation, I found myself holding a glass of champagne, nothing but a forced smile on my face until my cheeks began to ache.
20 years old. I am at the age where I am running out of excuses. For everything. For not knowing what I want to do. For not having a partner. For not having many friends. For not doing exceptionally well in anything. For not having my life figured out. But I am living my own reality, and my reality is hard enough. I rush to work after lectures, I sprint to rehearsals in between, call my mom who’s living 9 hours ahead of me. Weekends with full-day shifts. No time to hang out with friends. No time to sleep. But being okay with it because music is my best friend. I like my life. Really, I do.
But I’m 20 now, I don’t get brownie points just for balancing my social life, part-time work, and academics. It’s hard. And nobody talks about it. Everyone is a swan, gracefully gliding on the surface while paddling furiously beneath the water. Their legs are sore, yet they keep a straight face smiling as if everything is perfect. We all struggle with honesty, we fight to express our true feelings but we feel scared and alone.
My mom worries that I’ll never find a husband. She’s worried I might be a lesbian, which isn’t something to worry about at all, even if it were true. Meanwhile, my guy friend tells me I’m going nowhere with my taste in men and my three-page CV.
But I know who I am. I am myself when I’m waiting tables and running across the restaurant on the weekends. I am myself when I’m playing the violin with my desk partner in orchestra. I am myself when I’m laughing with my few close friends, feeling like nothing else in the world matters. I am myself when I’m doing research on public health topics for my assignments, and when I’m singing my heart out in the dorm room while my roommate is away. I am myself when I dream of working in an international organization.
I believe that someday, I will find something—or someone—that accepts me just as I am. Whether it’s a boy, a girl, or a company that recognises my potential, I’m holding onto that hope. But I am old enough to know that I can’t just wait for that moment to arrive; I have to work on myself and keep on discovering new sides of myself. And I’m fully prepared to embrace the journey ahead.
Adulting is hard. That’s why I bask in music and forget about it for while. And you should find your oasis too.
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