Adulthood

TLWR: revisited The Little Prince. Turning 23 in a few days, so, it’s a bday post.

When I was 13, a decade ago, I first picked up this book. At first, “The Little Prince” didn’t seem too exciting to me with its title and being labeled as “children’s literature.” But I decided to see what all the fuss was about. To me, it was just a tale about a boy and some strange creatures and plants.

Back then, it was just another book that I tucked away in my memories as okay, not amazing, but decent. I used to think the best books were the ones that made me cry, and since I rarely cry over literature, those were the ones I considered top-tier. The next level down were the books that held my attention for a long time. For instance, “A Song of Ice and Fire” took me a long time to finish. I remember thinking while reading it, “Great stories, but my parents definitely won’t approve, so I’m reading it (sort of rebelliously).” Basically, I judged books solely on their plots, without thinking too much into deeper meanings.

This year has been particularly challenging for me, prompting me to revisit “The Little Prince” as a way to reconnect with its fundamentals. Among its many themes, the one that resonated with me the most was the exploration of adulthood.

Long time ago, I often found myself pondering why all adults seemed to adhere to a similar pattern: they wore serious expressions daily and repeated the same routines without any apparent boredom. I once asked my dad why these adults didn’t opt for a life of adventure, choosing to travel the world instead of commuting on the subway to work five days a week. His response was simple: “They just can’t.” I was puzzled by this explanation.

Even at the age of 22, I struggled to comprehend the essence of adulthood. As I began contemplating the realities of life and the passing of time, I realized that I was gradually transforming into that very type of unexciting adult.

“Act your age,” they all advised. Consequently, I started concealing my daydreams, reserving a space for thoughts deemed inappropriate for my age. I increasingly engaged in adult responsibilities, despite lacking a full understanding of their significance. I suppressed the silly questions in my mind, aware that more mature individuals would likely ridicule them and urge me to adopt a more realistic mindset.

Becoming an adult entails a balance between reality and fantasy. Fantasies used to hold a greater sway over my life, allowing me to live carefree days filled with daydreams. However, as I matured, reality gradually encroached upon my reveries. I found myself swinging back and forth between the demands of reality and the allure of my fantasy world, feeling somewhat lost in the process.

People frequently reassure me, saying, “You’re still too young; you’ll understand eventually.” Whenever my impractical daydreams surface, I’m compelled to suppress them with a more rational mode of thinking. Despite my efforts to conform to adult norms and behaviors, my mindset remains largely unchanged from the moment I first posed the question, “Why are adults like this?”

As we mature, the luxury of exploring our inner child often slips away. Each passing year brings a burden of knowledge, layering complexity onto what once seemed simple and beautiful. Everyday objects like cars and houses lose their whimsical charm, replaced by calculations of worth and utility. We prioritize tangible benefits, overlooking the intrinsic value of experiences and the joy of simply appreciating life’s wonders. Our pursuit of immediate gains consumes us, leaving little room for gratitude or reflection.

In our relentless quest for certainty and measurable outcomes, we may project an image of bravery. Yet beneath this, lies a deep-seated fear of embracing our own immaturity. Are we truly becoming more mature, or are we simply too afraid to acknowledge the richness of remaining childlike in a world that demands adult responsibility?

Am I truly embodying rational adulthood in my twenties, or am I merely conforming to societal expectations? Each time I find myself needing to conform to the prescribed norms of adulthood, I experience a visceral discomfort. The act of indoctrinating myself with the “correct” adult perspectives feels like a form of mental coercion. Despite feeling a resistance in my very being, I ultimately give in to the pressure to adopt the more mature, rational, and socially accepted behaviors and beliefs.

The child within me still jumps around with excitement, hoping to see her dreams come true. In her eyes, nothing is impossible, even if the odds are slim. Most of time, they are not coming true, she would start crying over these stupid adult rules: “Why can’t we?” Yet, time and again, I always end up breaking her heart and telling her: “Sorry, but we can’t do that, we just can’t.” Now, she sometimes retreats into her own little space, living with her unrealistic daydreams, aware that I’ll always reject them.

“They just can’t,” I finally understand what my dad meant all those years ago. Am I any different? I guess not. This year, I’ve had to let go of so many things, not because they weren’t important enough, but simply because “I just can’t.”

Well, I’m turning 23 in a few days. I hate growing up, but it’s inevitable. I’ll keep carrying the weight of adult responsibilities, hoping the little me doesn’t get too disappointed in the reality.

It was a fantastic year regardless. I’m grateful for everyone who supported me and for everything I experienced. Without all of you, I wouldn’t be who I am today. So, thank you for being here. (and thanks to chatgpt for the language support lol.) Until the next time :))

Love,

Lin