When he arrives

It’s time for him to arrive, after tons of anticipation.

He looks rugged with a beard and charming curly hair. He is strong like hurricanes and cyclones. He doesn’t talk much. He doesn’t cry, either. He can raise his voice when a team needs, or else he would rather spend time wandering around alone, thinking in silence.

Some people define him as physical development, others have no idea about what he looks like. Some say welcome to him with sparkle eyes, others get scared of him. Some are aware of his existence since their first year in college, others just reluctantly accept him when they have to deal with trauma in life. But no matter how well prepared we are, to our surprise, he never comes alone.

Yes, he does. Even though I can make sure that he himself doesn’t want it.

He came with great responsibility when a teenage girl witnessed her parents' breakup on her 15th birthday. She didn’t know how to wipe her mom’s tears away, keeping crumbling that it’s no use crying over spilled milk, although she was also bleeding inside.

He befriended my neighbor when he was doing job hunting after 4 years of studying abroad. I could hear my friend’s alarm went off every 30 minutes in the middle of the night. I could see his big eye bags when he kept knocking my door at 3 AM in order to give me a burger and remind me not to skip breakfast. Sometimes I asked him if everything was going well, he never said no, but his forehead wrinkles replied me the opposite.

He stands for the mental crisis, for fear, for sleepless nights, for expectations the society puts on us. He defies simplicity. He is a social construct. And his name is Adulthood.

At the age of 19, I can say that sometimes I feel like I’ve reached him, that scary man, and a lot of time, I haven’t. He leaves me for days or months and then picks me up again. He saw me got stuck on my portfolio, and taught me not to give up rather than praising me for my notorious overconfidence. I complain less. I write to share stories, not to seek sympathy. I learn to grow in silence, being brave enough to face up with him, with the fact that I’m-not-as-good-as-I-wish-to. He did make me cry a little bit, but it’s fine. He is more than a feeling to me, not just an aging process.

After all, I think we all will find ways to live together with him, sooner or later. Once we hit that milestone, it's swiftly a daunting prospect. But from now on I won’t wait for him with apprehension anymore. And I hope you won’t, either.