In the past month, three people have asked me how I feel now that I’m turning twenny this month.
The first time I fully realized it was on a jeepney, of all places. My brain went wonky on me and started freaking out: “I’m going to die without doing anything significant, I’m going to die without leaving a trace or a legacy of some sort, I’m going to die alone—” That looped through my head like a relentless, evil mantra all day long.
Now my mom asked me what I was feeling, and I didn’t know. I feel as un-adult as it is possible to feel.
My download list includes old Nickelodeon shows (think Hey Arnold and Kenan and Kel), I eat cereal for dinner, and I don’t even have a postal ID yet. Plus, the idea of leaving school to find work is scaring me to the point that I wonder how it’d be if I flunked on purpose just to remain a student for one more year.
Don’t get me wrong, I look forward to being a bill-paying, nine-to-five-ing, mostly independent adult. But as of this moment, I don’t think I’m quite there yet. Let me get back to you when I stop thinking of my future in terms of days or weeks.