At the age of eighteen, I find myself straddling between feeling old and young. My heart is weary from experience, yet my youthful soul remains untainted by the complexities of life. I have the ability to indulge in certain activities, like sipping firewater, but I still lack the responsibility to avoid getting drunk. While I possess enough skills to drive, I haven’t obtained a license to do so legally. The act of dyeing my hair may seem juvenile, even though it shouldn’t be perceived that way.
Standing at a height of 5-foot-2, I often find solace in watching shows like “Gravity Falls” whenever boredom strikes. Despite my age, I still harbor a fear of the dark, and the only horror film I can bear to watch alone is Jordan Peele’s “Get Out.” There are many things I yearn to do, but my empty pockets prevent me from pursuing them. Furthermore, I can’t help but feel a sense of shame when surrounded by young achievers who have accomplished so much at a tender age. I sit there, stifling myself with excuses like “It was a different time.”
Time, as a concept, is quite comical. It was devised by the Egyptians as a means to measure the passing of sunrises and sunsets. It moves relentlessly, influencing everything around us and providing us with a tangible measure to exclaim, “Wow, that’s ancient!” At this point, I have already spent 157,680 hours of my life, which equates to 9,460,800 minutes if I were to break it down into seconds. Thinking about it too deeply might just overwhelm me.
In terms of cultural references, I belong to a generation familiar with childhood games like tagu-taguan, habol-habulan, luksong baka, and tumbang preso. I grew up with digital cameras, CDs/DVDs, and Barney. If I were to liken myself to a car, I would be an antique with failing engines and smoke signals emanating from my exhaust pipes, indicating the need for a replacement. It may sound wrong in every aspect, but perhaps I was too consumed with counting the days instead of truly living them. My life has been devoid of filler episodes, lacking any love interests or romantic storylines. I always fast-forward to the ending, leaving no room for growth or improvement.
Now, the concept of endings haunts me, suffocating me with a sense of anxiety and making me question the true nature of life. Is it all just a facade created by the privileged and philosophical elite? It feels absurd, yet I find myself contemplating it incessantly. It’s not a matter of whether others will remember me, but rather a trembling uncertainty of whether I have done enough. I was raised in an environment where achieving just “enough” was never sufficient, and putting in more effort was merely seen as trying too hard.
When I close my eyes at night, painful memories flicker through my mind, accompanied by sadistic thoughts that I have conjured up. I often find myself revisiting the places and shadows of my past, despite the pain it inflicts upon me. There’s a part of me that wishes to stay there, to make amends and change certain aspects of my life. I believe I can do better, promising myself that I will write more, study harder, and give my all. However, reality reminds me that we don’t live in fairy tales, and a time machine doesn’t exist. All a young girl like me can do is dream and face the inevitable reality upon waking.
I often wonder if I will ever have my moment, a period of time where I am truly seen and understood. Throughout the years spent in my own company, I have yet to unravel the depths of my own being. All I know is that college holds the key to my success, my only ticket out of a life of misery and failure. Ignorance, particularly about myself, is the greatest tragedy I have inflicted upon myself.
As I navigate through life, I slowly realize that my achievements and accolades will never truly validate my existence. What truly matters are the emotions and experiences that have made me feel alive. Perhaps I was wrong all along. It wasn’t a matter of being ignorant of what I didn’t know, but rather being oblivious to what I didn’t realize. One day, I will let go of all the versions of myself that hold me back, releasing myself from the torment of “What if?” questions. I will become the person I aspire to be.
One day, I will fully know myself and accept that life is an ongoing cycle of moments and memories. It creates and ends, resembling a mysterious jigsaw puzzle that no single person can complete. Life is not a film or a song; it continues without pauses, commercial breaks, disclaimers, or credit rolls. And eventually, at its own time, it concludes.
Denial of responsibility! VigourTimes is an automatic aggregator of Global media. In each content, the hyperlink to the primary source is specified. All trademarks belong to their rightful owners, and all materials to their authors. For any complaint, please reach us at – [email protected]. We will take necessary action within 24 hours.
