Old and Wise? Not quite
So I guess I'm 23. It’s funny, during the weeks leading up to my birthday, I was dreading it b/c 23 seemed like such an old number. No longer able to pretend to pass for college age-23 is officially mid twenties. And every time I thought about turning 23, I had an uncomfortable feeling that I wasn’t ready. That I hadn’t gotten my life together enough to be able to earn the age of being in my mid-twenties. My life feels like a mess. I feel like a mess. I certainly wasn’t yet the “grown up” a 23 year old is supposed to be. I had the same sneaky feeling last year when I turned 22-from what I can remember of my emotions a year ago. But then it happened. I turned 23. And today, it feels about right.
This past year has been…momentous to say the least. I feel very old and weather-worn. A bit tired and definitely wary of life. Such is the price of growing up isn’t it? Make that really tired and completely losing optimism in life.
It first hit me as such a silly thing. Me, the girl who always loved horoscopes, who always believed that things happen for a reason, that there is a big life plan for all of us. The girl who was raised with no religion so she grasped what beliefs she could pull together-compounded with that Asians are naturally into horoscopes and the like. Usually, at the end of the year, I’m excited to read the horoscopes for the upcoming year. To see what will happen. Like it made a difference. This year…absolutely no desire. Maybe it’s my overall lack of enthusiasm with life right now, but really what’s the point? Nothing at all could have foretold what would happen to me this past year. And all of the mental and emotional preparation obviously did not spare me any pain. So what’s the point? There is no point. Things don’t happen for a reason. There isn’t a bigger plan. I’m no less human than anyone else. And there is nothing I can do to control life.
Depressing? Perhaps. Cynical? Definitely. I can’t believe how cynical I’ve become. It would make me sad, if I wasn’t so apathetic. Writing it all down now, spilling all of this onto words that release some of what I feel inside helps. It also helps to know that only 2 people read this. So while my head gets the rush of release like I’m actually telling people how I feel, I feel safe with the knowledge that no one actually reads this. If they did…well, only the ones who really know me would get it. Because only a handful knows anything about my life beyond the very top surface of a smile and a friendly gesture. Very few people would have any clue what the hell I was talking about ever-compounded with the lack of names and clarity I purposely leave out. I’m releasing out into the void and yet I’m not. Maybe this is why even my close friends often times complain that I don’t update them enough on my life and thoughts of life…
Anyways, I feel my full 23 years now. I feel old. I’ve seen enough and I’ll finally admit that I feel broken. I feel like my spirit’s been dashed. My energy gone. It is so much harder to put on that smile and bounce around like I always do. It is so much harder to look at the world with the same rosy-colored lenses I apparently had been. The world is falling apart. Everyone is getting fired. Where just a year ago, I was riding high on life, floating at the top of my world, at the peak of my game, throwing money around like water, now…now I fear for the economy. I fear for my family’s financial stability. I fear letting anyone get close to me. I fear my recent bad luck with money will catch up with me. But what’s worse than fear? The current apathetic view I have on everything.
My project is going well-but I want to try something new. Except the economy is even worse than where it was last year and I have been advised to just keep my head down and work hard.
I can’t believe I had my heart broken at 22. I suppose it makes sense-all of the terrible things I’ve done (intentionally or not) eventually has to catch up with me right? Karma. And for a good person (that I will still maintain I am), I guess I’ve done some terrible things in the past…mostly not on purpose, but still, nevertheless, things I take responsibility for. But I still can’t believe it happened. Or what’s worse, I understand why it happened. Of course I understand. I always understand. My downfall in life is being too empathetic. But understanding doesn’t take away the pain that I still feel. Or the sadness at how embittered the end was and resulting void. And how much do you want to bet, my future self as I read back on this entry, how much do you want to bet he’s probably angry at me for something instead of the other way around. Some part of the whole thing that he’s mis-interpreted and made me the bad guy. I’d bet my entire savings its true. Probably convinced himself I was the one who was just playing around. I was the one who didn’t care and just left and moved on immediately. I was the one who was purposely cold and mean. I was the one who was unreasonable. No. I wish I could have been any of those. In another time, as another me, the old me, I would have been. But that was my mistake. No, I was the one who made the mistake. I should have listened to myself and stayed away in the first place. But do I really believe that? I’m too tired to figure it out. I just know that I’ve given up. Thrown in the towel. The fact that I’ve tried everything-all possible tactics and I’m still unhappy about it, 4 months later, and unable to get him out of my head would drive me insane-except I’ve given up. I hate it when people tell me to give it time. Screw time. Obviously I’m not patient when it comes to things like this. This, which before had always only taken a week, tops to get over anyone. Obviously I hate myself for the lack of ability to control my own feelings. I mean what’s the point of spending years building walls and ability to immediately shut of all feelings if I can’t pull them up at will. And the fact that I’m more angry with myself for falling for him than for anything he did and the fact that I understand why it happened the way it did and the fact that I blame my own self for being stupid enough to let this happen to me. What the hell am I supposed to learn?
People tell me this is good-now I’ve learned to not hurt anyone else the same way. Except I don’t think I’ve learned that lesson. I’ve learned to not let anyone in again. I’ve learned to not be so stupid. I’ve learned to not be so soft. But not hurt anyone else? Why does some nagging feeling tell me I haven’t learned that lesson?
And why am I talking about this AGAIN? I need to stop talking about it. Well, probably b/c I no longer talk to my friends about it. They’ve stopped asking, which is nice, because they know I’m still not yet ok and don’t like admitting to weakness. Sissi Chen is not supposed to be soft and weak, like some stupid silly girl who’s…*ugh*. It makes me feel ashamed that I’m still upset. Like I’m weak and can’t control my own feelings. Like some naïve idiot who doesn’t get it. But I DO get it. I’m more clear to me than anyone could possibly see. So what’s the deal? There is no deal, you see. There is no lesson. No point. No reason. No big plan. No larger picture.
Investment banking disappeared. Everyone is getting fired. People I know are losing their jobs. Wharton kids are struggling to make it. My family is officially done. My friends are growing up without me. I actually fell for someone. I actually let someone hurt me. I actually let someone hurt me in the hopes to not hurt him. I no longer believe things happen for a reason. I no longer feel a desire to analyze something to always find the answer. I don’t care what the future may bring because I no longer think I can control the chaos. You may as well tell the pigs to start flying.
So what’s the point then? There is no point. And this is how I now know I’m officially old. The rosy-colored lenses are gone. There is no point. No meaning to life (and to think I used to think I knew what the meaning of life was). I’m 23 years old and I just don’t care anymore. I’ve grown up. Life has officially whopped my ass and I accept the humbling slap across the face. I throw in the towel. I’ll stop trying to control life. I will stop trying to analyze and find patterns in my life-long attempt to put order into chaos. Spending all my time trying to solve the everyone’s problems, trying to figure out the world. Maybe I’m better off just wrapping myself tightly into the little ball that is myself, surrounded by my armor and just focusing my life on what is immediately around me rather than trying to become something more than just ordinary.
So I guess I’m 23 now. 23 and all grown up.