a quarter past crisis
As I wrote the "Lo. Lee. Ta" essay it dawned on me that something I've been doing a lot is mentioning my age. Which, as with everything, led me to wonder why. My best theory is that I might be going through a quarter-life crisis.
Firstly, up until mid-2023, I had spent most of my adult years without any purpose, no direction in life, and often suicidal. So now that I have abandoned that mindset, and I'm able to envision myself as a contributing member of society, it feels almost like I'm having to re-learn how to live. This shift in state of mind coincided with my move to a different city, without my siblings—whom I've been a second parent to for seven years. All of a sudden, I'm having to figure out who I am when I don't have to worry about my pseudo-kids 24/7; when I have the space to put my needs above theirs.
This obviously sparked a major identity crisis. Suddenly, nothing in my wardrobe appealed to me, wearing any item of clothing I had brought from my previous life felt wrong. Like none of those clothes belonged to me. I had to figure out what this new Lwiny liked—I'm really into cardigans and jeans, as I found out. One day, my hair started bothering me. Or it was a switch that flipped—I needed a more drastic change, so I cut my hair and got some bangs (which I do not regret). Before I knew it, I wanted a new piercing, more tattoos, I wanted to dye my hair, I wanted new hobbies. Seemingly out of nowhere, I was hyper-aware of who I was and who I was becoming, but I welcomed that change because it meant that I was growing.
Changing the way I looked was a small piece of the puzzle of reclaiming my life and beginning to narrate my story. For so long I thought I needed to keep my head down and do what was best for my family, help my father as much as possible, and make sure my siblings got all the support I felt like I never got. All this turned me into a shell of who I once was but the thing is, as I began trying to tap into that Lwiny I thought I had lost, I realized I never knew her at all. The last time I was in touch with her, she was a scared little child. I am no longer that child stripped of her innocence and I wanted that not only to be known but also seen.
Adding to that crisis was the fact that I went from being a college dropout for almost two years, and then impulsively thrusting myself back into academic life, in which the vast majority of my classmates were five to six years younger than me. Putting my crippling social anxiety to the side, I managed to socialize with some of my younger peers and even make a few friends. And I think what helped me was the fact that they didn't think I was an aging senpai, that has to crack her limbs every time she's been lying down for too long. Much to my surprise, after finding out my age they never treated me like a senpai. They just saw me as another student, not some old geezer who was infiltrating their class.
At 23, I basically decided to hit the reset button on life. Which is fine—great even. Except that doing such a thing at that age meant that I was way behind all of my "age mates." I've always done a decent job at reminding myself that I don't have to compare my journey to everyone else's, that we're all on different paths that will lead us to our respective destinations at different times—and that is okay.
Although I'm able to remind myself of that often, it still is very hard not to look around and feel like a failure sometimes. Failure might be too harsh a word, but some days I can't shake the feeling that I'm two steps behind.
This year, I turn 25. If you asked 16-year-old me how I envisioned myself at this age, I'd probably say dead somewhere—yeah, my parent's divorce did a number on me. However, if you asked 14-year-old me, she'd say that maybe at this age I'd be engaged, having my second child, with a house and a budding career as a lawyer. Oh, how I hate to have to disappoint her!
I don't like to put pressure on myself to conform to heteronormative standards of living—mostly because my love life has been nothing but a whirlwind of failed romances; after so many years of co-parenting kids that were not mine, I'm not entirely sure about the idea of spawning my own—especially in this economy, I'd fare better as the cool auntie; and being a child of divorce, you can imagine that my perception of marriage may not be the best, although the Libra in me would love to plan a lavish wedding—hey, I'm just a girl.
It does help that my dad doesn't put that kind of pressure on me. I think to some degree he has seen how much I've struggled in life and how much of myself I have given for my family that he just wants me to enjoy life. He always encourages me to study hard, because education is very important to him—he knows I have a lot of potential that he'd hate to see wasted, or at least I hope so. He encourages me to indulge in my hobbies, whether that be singing, writing, or whatever else my ADHD brain comes up with. Of course, there has been the occasional "where's the boyfriend?" question but it's hardly a thing that comes up.
Never receiving that pressure from my dad—well, both of my parents really—has been immensely helpful in grasping the idea that I can set my own pace, I don't need to rush things. This is actually something my dad reminds me often—one step at a time and you'll get there, he says.
With that said, all of this does not stop me from looking at my "age mates" and wondering what my life could've been like if I just did everything when and how I was supposed to. For the past two or three years, I have seen my old colleagues and my friends: graduate, get master's degrees, get engaged, get married, buy houses, have children, and then have more children in some cases, and build their careers. All the while, I'm at the coffee shop trying to decide if I want soy milk or almond milk in my matcha latte, I'm still at the Lego store trying to decide what set I want to get, I'm still looking up master's degrees in cities I cannot afford to live in, while I still haven't finished my bachelor's.
I saw a post on Instagram that said something along the lines of "Just saw someone my age be pursued romantically, day ruined" and that pretty much sums up where I am. I won't lie, sometimes I'm a bit of a hater when I see happy couples online, but let me find out they're my age? Day ruined. Social media isn't the best place to be when I'm spiraling about not having accomplished much in life. Being bombarded with 20-year-old millionaires, 21-year-old business owners, 22-year-olds in happy marriages, 23-year-olds as happy parents, and 24-year-olds changing the world, while I'm still a 25-year-old trying to decide whether to read Dostoevsky or Jane Austen.
I think to myself, am I too late to achieve these things? Do I have time to accomplish these new-found goals that I have set for myself? Is it too late to start a career? Because let's be honest, my LinkedIn leaves a lot to be desired—and by "a lot," I mean everything. Every time I log into that wretched app, I want to vomit at the sight of all the accomplishments I'm bombarded with. Obviously, I am very happy for my friends, and I will always cheer them on—I'm not jealous or anything, sometimes I just wish I were experiencing these things with them and not in 5 years when they've already celebrated most of their accomplishments.
Obviously, I have a few accomplishments under my belt but I've been downplaying them for argument's sake. They are…different accomplishments but I'm proud of them nonetheless. 16-year-old-me never saw a life past 18. Here I am, almost 25, and still going. Yes, I dropped out of university before but I went back with more drive than ever, and this time I actually have dreams and goals I look forward to achieving—not to mention that now, I actually am enjoying my university experience. After a lot of therapy, I'd say I'm very emotionally intelligent (let's not ask my friends about my few dumb bitch mistakes here and there—I'm a hopeless romantic). Still, that is a virtue I value tremendously in myself and in others. I don't have a career but I have work experience, which does count for something. And last but not least, I have a killer sense of style now.
As I said, this doesn't happen often. It's not every day that I think of it, and it's not frequently that I beat myself up over it or for making the choices I made to this point. I just have to keep reminding myself that this is my story, and I get to write the next chapters of my journey how I see fit. Yes, some pages may be rough drafts but the best chapters are still ahead—after all, I'm only on chapter 25 of many more to come…hopefully.
