Birthday Realizations

It was 7:23 PM when it hit me. After months of getting horrified at the mere thought of being 21 (also known as becoming legal worldwide), I realized something.

I’m actually not that scared.

—

There were 13 of us in the jeep, 14 if you count the driver, and we’ve just climbed 3 mountains in 3 days, spanning a distance of almost 60 kilometres. We were dead tired yet we were hazy with content; we were sleepy, but, for the most part, we were glad the weekend happened. Our bums were starting to bruise from the rocky road, and we half-groaned at the idea of having to undergo four more gruelling hours of such uncomfortable travel, and yet we were laughing, sharing with each other cheese bars and marshmallows, nuts and gummy worms. Two of my closest friends sat in the front, and I was sitting parallel to 10 other twenty-somethings. Most of them already employed, many in relationships, some in school, one realizing that school wasn’t quite nearly for him. One laden with tattoos, three dancers, two marathoners. All, with all intents and purposes, adults.

And we talked about plenty of stuff. We talked about philosophy and wrestling, the Lord of the Rings and Star Wars. We discussed running shoes and photos, we talked about mountains and the environment, of work and friends, of gossip and politics, of local bands and local coffee, of beer and pizza and things we’d do immediately after we arrive in Manila. We laughed at the most shallow jokes, and shared stories we would not as easily share with other people.

We discussed our goals for the next day, and week, and month, and year. We talked about big dreams, and small dreams, and medium sized dreams, and complained about how it sucked that life did not come with a fast forward button. We sang songs from our childhood, and songs from the childhood of those who came before us. “Mom’s spaghetti,” we would say over and over and over, completely forgetting the proper lyrics to that Eminem song, and then we would laugh like hyenas, even though society would dictate that adulthood means getting your shit together.

It does not, apparently. And that’s why I don’t think I’m scared anymore.

The sun has long set when I looked at those around me. Some were checking their phones, one was staring at the distance, and almost everyone was fast asleep (many doing the open-mouthed snoring that comes only with tiring days). I realized then that these people don’t have everything figured out yet. There are still things to be done, words to be said, papers to be submitted, roads to be paved, dreams to be dreamt of.

Adulthood, I learned, is not about finally figuring things out. Perhaps for many (and, well, perhaps for me), it’s realizing that things need figuring out, and that I need to trust me to be able to do just that. Perhaps it means getting into terms with the idea of growing up, but still making time to laugh, and be goofy, to admit you don’t know, to be honest and say you haven’t thought about it yet. Perhaps, in a slightly ironic way, it means never letting go of your youth; that it talks more about numbers than it does people. That it involves a lot more stumbling, and laughing at mistakes. That while adulthood means having to make more room for responsibility, it also means having to make more room for moments that take your breath away.

I remember smiling then, while looking at my dimly lit hands through the reflections of poorly lit streetlights on the jeep’s yellow tainted window. I remember intertwining my fingers together, clasping them over my mouth, concealing the laugh that’s threatening to escape my lips. I remember scanning my surroundings one more time, and then finally, I remember whispering to myself, very faintly… “I was afraid of this?”

—

Maybe I can survive being an adult after all.