song to listen to while reading: Motion Sickness - Phoebe Bridgers
today I turn 19 years old.
I will not cry this time.
When I was 13, I distinctly remember thinking to myself that 19 was going to be the pinnacle age when everything would happen. I would be living on my own, on the cusp of adulthood, hopefully with a significant other, living my best life and partying it up.
Flash-forward to now:
I still live at home with my family,
I am sort of (not really) freshly single,
and I hate going to parties more than three times a year.
But I am content.
Looking back, I’m grateful I even made it to 19.
Chapter 1: Life
What does it mean to live fully?
I’ve been grappling with this for a while now.
Does it mean romanticizing every moment? Grasping every single opportunity presented? Doing tasks that need to be done? Does nothing or everything matter?
I personally think it’s more complicated than that.
When I was in middle school, we were tasked with drawing a chronological timeline of our lives as an art project. The examples had clear ups and downs, and so did most of our renditions to match the criteria. Events had a large dip or raise to emphasize the “size” of the event, whether it was “big” or “small.” Now, this was pretty easy for me, or so I thought. Brother was born? Big event (up). Started school? Not as big of an event (slightly up). Dad got cancer? Big event (down). And so on and so on.
That’s BS.
I get that my wonderful art teachers wanted foster growth and learning through this activity, but if I did this activity now, I think I would either have an existential crisis or emotional breakdown (or both).
Life is a messy thread of experiences, feelings, moments, and memories. A cacophony of noises, a blur of decisions, all condensed into the timespan of about 60-80 years. We go backwards, we go forwards. We stay stagnant like the water inside the pond in my grand-aunt’s backyard. We evolve, develop, learn, and grow as people. We change.
As a kid, I used to get the same recurring nightmare for years. I’m not going to go into it, but it would always end with this (I’ll try my best to explain or draw it).
This blob of string would move like those Looney Toon cartoon fights, and some part of me wanted to straighten that piece of thread out. The more tangled it got and the more I couldn't untangle it, the more anxious I became in my sleep and I would wake up screaming and crying.
I know I am a control freak. I get that from my dad. I say and do things that are analretentive and neurotic. I was a perfectionist and straight A student in High School. I live and breathe control. I realize I most likely have undiagnosed OCD or neurodivergency. Letting go of things (items, objects, emotions, people) is extremely hard for me. Maybe this is the reason why I’ve cried on my birthday every year since I was 13. I’m letting another year pass, letting time disappear into the void.
Recently, to cope with the loss of control stemming from transitioning into university, I’ve tried to embrace the messiness of life. Baking and cooking have become moments of peace. There’s method to it, but at the same time, room for creativity. The same with blogging. There’s a set format, but within, so many options for expression.
I don’t feel that much older, or wiser for that matter. I do feel closer to the people I love and those I’ve lost. I know they’re looking down at me and smiling. Either that or extremely disappointed that I’m writing this in bed while eating Costco pastries and drinking Gatorade that has been on my nightstand for three days (and I complain about digestive issues!)
I come from a line of strong women. My great-grandma was 99 when she passed. She raised my mother and her siblings (my uncles) with kindness, fierce protectiveness, and a nurturing spirit. She held the fort down when everything was falling apart. Since she didn’t know any English whatsoever besides “thank you” and I don’t know a lick of Chinese, we never actually communicated with just each other in conversation. I miss her cataract covered eyes, her laugh, feeling her cold jade bracelet on my cheek, and holding her papery-skinned hand and long frail fingertips that held a pulse that lasted far longer than she (or my family) ever expected.
I would have loved to have an interview with her, but she kept a lot of her past life a secret. It was too painful for her to remember or recollect and tell. Even with that, she probably showed me the most of what life is about.
Maybe I’ll ask her one day.
Chapter 2: Love
Love is much more than those tiktoks captioned #couplegoals or #relationship.
Love is genuine connection, and comes in so many different forms. I do think that as human beings, we seek out love, even in the most difficult situations or places.
We love to love!
We love other humans, we love pets, nature, food & drink, and so on.
Love is so much more than just romantic attraction, love can be tender and sweet, passionate, frustrating, complicated, intricate, overwhelming, slow, fast, gentle, and/ or stubborn, but for some reason we always come running back to it.
In Lana Del Rey’s (yes I am going to be that kind of girlblogger) song, Let The Light In, she sings in the bridge:
‘Cause I love to love, to love, to love you
I hate to hate, to hate, to hate you
Put the Beatles on, light the candles, go back to bed
‘Cause I wanna, wanna, wanna want you
I need to, need to, need to need you
Put the TV on, the flowers in a vase, lie your head.
We live and breathe love, even in the simplest ways.
Here’s a few ways I’ve felt love in my life:
When I turned 1, my parents stayed up until 1 am making and decorating an Elmo cake from scratch.
When I was 5, my brother was born. He is still a menace, but I can’t imagine life without him, insults and all.
When I was 10, I moved out of my childhood home, my dad got cancer, and still people asked me every single day if I was okay. He got better. I am okay now.
When I was 15, I started dating a boy. He was everything to me.
Now I am 19. I still have so much more to learn, so many more people to love, and (hopefully) lots of life left.
I can’t wait.
Chapter 3: Friendship
I’ve started to realize the comfort and power of platonic friendships.
Like how people have comfort movies, songs, and foods, friends are usually our comfort people. I’ve spent the last week surrounded by of those who make me feel safe, accepted, and loved. We don’t even have to say anything, but their presence is just as comforting as solitude. We can look at each other with a glance, and the moment our eyes meet, it’s like we can read each other’s minds. That’s the effect friendship has. The importance of having a support network when you lose a safety net can be the difference between thriving and surviving. To those who are lonely, or feel like they lack love or friendship, I understand, and I know how alienating and isolating that can be.
In my 19 years of love and laughter, I’ve been surrounded by people who have made me feel that life is worth living and I’ve been priviledged to experience that.
I am overwhelmingly grateful for everyone who’s been part of my life so far, whether we’ve known each other for three days, spent three weeks of summer camp together, or thirteen years in school. My heart beats for you.
Thank you.
this was stunningly well written! happy birthday - cheers to embracing the messiness of life 🎉