As some of you may know, I turned 20 in September. Yes, it’s true – I have been on this world for two full decades, and it feels like a lifetime (though that’s probably because to me it actually is). It’s now been five months since that dreadful day, and I have found that 20 is probably the most confusing age to be. Am I a responsible adult? Am I an impulsive teenager? WHO KNOWS, NOT ME.
Where I live, you’re a legal adult once you’re 18, but it is common knowledge that nobody is an actual adult at that age just yet. Once you’re 20, however, there’s no more denying it: you’re an adult and everyone knows it. Except, maybe, yourself. There is the constant self-doubt: I’m supposed to be an adult but I don’t even know how to set up a goddamn PayPal account to renew my blog license. (This is a very general example and not at all something that happened in real life, ever, especially not to me ten minutes ago, stoP LOOKING AT ME.)
Yet I feel like a lot of people of my age, especially those who also still live at home 24/7, understand ~the feeling~: you don’t want the full adult responsibility yet (like making PayPal payments), but you do want some space in one form or another. You don’t want people to tell you to wear a scarf when you go outside anymore, or put out the lights when you leave the room (yes, mom, I know you are reading this). You were already going to do all of that because you’re 20 years old and you’re responsible, but someone telling you to do it kind of makes you want to not do it just to spite them.
I guess it all comes down to the I WAS GOING TO PUT THE LIGHTS OUT, MOTHER, I AM A RESPONSIBLE ADULT – mom please call the doctor for me dilemma. If I am truly honest, I think it’s probably just the awkward in-between phase everyone has to go through at some point. As much as it is confusing, I also feel like I’m learning a lot about ~life~, and that’s probably the important part. Right? RIGHT???
- L. Parole