NOT PETER PAN

To my younger thus more naive self, “growing up” was this vague thing in the far off future. Those days, my major concerns were the following (in no particular order): do well in school, survive the occasional bully, and pine a little over the crushes who taught me a lot about unrequited love.

Occasionally, I showed signs of having a mind of my own, but, generally, I was this formless piece of clay being kneaded by the things and people around me. My response to and perception of things were heavily reliant on what my parents and teachers gave me. And whenever I made a mistake, I could easily chalk it up to being a kid who did not know any better. All in all, it was a good deal.

Then things changed.

Some weeks ago, my friend and I went to this swanky restaurant-cum-bar for post-dinner drinks. It was 10 on a Saturday night. She got her favorite White Russian while I asked for a cup of brewed coffee. See, I was struggling to stay awake. The waiter, literally, laughed in my face.

Goodbye, carefree younger days when alcohol kept me going through late nights instead of getting me sleepy. My Instagram post for that night makes me laugh, but it is also a telltale sign that, no, I am not as young as I used to be.

Photo of event. Imagine if I had ordered a warm glass of milk?

I’m not sure when or how it happened. Before I knew it, stuff like that restaurant incident happened more often (Who slept at 10pm during the company beach outing? I did). And with those came this other change: simply following instructions from those around me did not feel right anymore.

It was most dominantly felt when I was choosing my major in college (it was the heyday of nursing then), at the height of the Reproductive Health bill debate (I am for it), when I learned that my religion has many factions in it (I can’t stand those who condemn homosexuality), and when I was thinking if I should leave my first job which made me learn a lot but was making me sick with the hours we had to clock in (I left after my third year). My days became tainted with, “Is this what I want to believe in? Is this how I want to live my life?”

That was when I started to understand why growing up is infamous. This is why people older than I tell me to savor my youth. Growing up rips away the illusion that there is someone else who can tell me how my life should be — that someone else is responsible for my happiness and usefulness. No longer can I hide behind the ignorance of childhood and, now, all the repercussions of my actions are on me.

The whole process was/is painful. It teaches you that your life is what you do with it. It also teaches you that your freedom is limited: we all want things but there will be costs and repercussions. I want to travel and see the world, but I have to earn money to stay afloat and help my family. I want to help the world, but the “how” is dependent on where I can make the biggest impact without jeopardizing my loved ones’ stability. Many times I have wished to return to blissful childlike ignorance out of fear, frustration and, sometimes, exhaustion.

But as I watch friends and family go through every day with this hanging over their heads, I’m starting to think that maybe the things that make growing up so hard are also the things that give life its meaning.

My college roommate recently wrote a piece on how she hates that she loves our messed up country so much. It went viral and has awakened a lot of other voices and minds. Many of my friends in the corporate world work not only to get ahead in their careers, but also to improve the situation of the “corporate slave” and the world by changing the way they work and taking on advocacies that they believe in. There are schoolmates in the government who work tirelessly in the hope of making a change. Entrepreneur friends have also looked beyond money-making to address the bigger issue of how they can help others through their businesses. And for something closer to home: my parents rose above their financially and emotionally impoverished upbringing to give my brother and I lives full of love, and comfort that they did not have.

I’d like to believe that none of this would have been possible if they did not “grow up.” I am convinced that the world’s biggest icons got to change the course of human history because they chose to step away from the convenience of childhood.

I think once accepted, the herculean task of living a life that you are fully accountable for gives you purpose. It offers the chance to become a person mindful of the things that matter and accepting of realities that have to be dealt with. Growing up positions us at a point where we can have the power to steer our lives towards one that lets us say, “This is the life I want. I am proud of it because I became a useful citizen of the world and all of this came to be because of my own choices.” Making us, ultimately, the masters of our own destinies.

It’s all scary and daunting. If we screw up, it’s on us. And we only have one shot at it. But I guess what I’m just trying to tell myself here is that it’s okay to feel the burden of being a grown-up every now and then. It’s probably the only way to “live a life worth living.”