We've been teenagers, and we've had fewer worries than the people in their twenties. All we had were things we ought to know, not things we ought to think about. We were fed with enthusiasm and urgency; we blindly collided with walls. We looked forward to growing up and being let loose and set free, but now we have realized that growing up did not equate to being free. In fact, it was the opposite.
When getting that high school diploma, some felt like they were defying the laws of physics. When they left the echoing sounds of footsteps on the field, they felt like they had won the olympics. When they saw the faces of our mentors, faces that couldn’t have been more glad to send us off, they felt more than delighted to say goodbye, or rather, good riddance. And when they saw the light reflected by slow tears in the eyes of our parents, they didn’t care much - let’s face it.
The excitement of the slowly-approaching twenties that we so wished for, the adventures and free time they made us see, the nights we’re supposed to spend, the assurance that all will be well were illusions, lies, and everything in between. Now, we don’t even know how to say that we’re happy.
Before, we could see each other every day, with the assurance that we get to hang and play. Now, we barely even talk on the phone, not to mention see each other. There’s a little more than 80 miles in between. Before, all the things that happened to one was known by the other. Now, we barely know what’s going on in our own lives, much less what’s going on in the other’s.
Before, having meals together came with a tacit understanding. Now, all we can do is send warmth through texts. Yet texts are only sent roughly once in a month. Before, we had time for outings, breaks, doing all the useless nothings. Now, we barely have time to sleep, eat, and even think about being tired. This is when we realize: we are less free than we expected ourselves to be.
We no longer understand the contents of our conversations. The few minutes we get to spend together are now filled with dead air. The things we know are no longer coherent with each other. And every time it’s just so sad and miserable and frustrating to be thinking about what could have happened to create this sort of distance from the few millimeters we had back then.
We visualised one of us, coming to visit the other every now and then. We imagined talking through the phone for long hours each day. We thought about going on nights out, picnics, and all those things we couldn’t do as kids. We pictured getting wasted together, stuffing our faces with all the great food, and forgetting every single thing that needed thinking, because before there were none.
These are just the few things that we thought we would get to do. These are just the few things our time can no longer accommodate. These are just the few things we wanted to do that we are thoroughly unable to. These are just the few things that weigh on my chest, that are eternally saddening.
But through the course of time, I have also realized a few positives, things that I have found to be true and can appreciate. It is true that we have become the adults that we used to look up to but didn’t expect. It is also true that what we have now is not at all what we thought we would get. We are more bound by endless work and responsibilities than we never even thought we’d be. I have become proud of what we have become, and there are a few reasons why.
Through the silence in between two people in a room, both busy with something of their own, there is warmth in small exchanges of glances. Through the sudden visits that come once every few months, there is comfort, and one can feel loved with the decreasing distance of travel. Through rare phone calls full of rants and cries, there is a laughing heart, full, healthy, important, and prioritised. Through small packages sent, there is care and thought that makes even the craziest days easier. And with just a simple meal spent together before parting, a soul is left behind, giving a gentle pat in the back, saying that, even though only a few hours or minutes were spent, and only a few words were told, there would always be someone to call home.
We see each other only once every three to five months, and when we do, we are only together for a measly amount of time. On birthdays we celebrate too late or too early because of our busy schedules. We only hear fatigue from one another, and that’s okay. We rarely engage in conversations that are not composed of a “Just wanted to say hello” and “now I have to go.” But when we get to be together, it always feels like a solace.
So it’s okay that being an adult is not how we expected it to be. It’s okay that we proved our ideals to be fake. It’s okay that we are being swallowed by responsibilities. It’s okay that we barely talk or see one another. Because at the end of the day, we know. We know that where the other is, there will be home.