On March 11, I’ll add one more candle to my usual cherry cake, and the wish I make will mean that much more because this is my last wish as a teenager. Or at least, that’s the way I see it. When blowing out candles, I can’t help but feel more nervous than excited for what’s to come. I think it’s mostly because I’m so unsure — but also because I’ve been a teenager for so long that I think I’m good at it. That is, I like it. I love it. So, it’s less of a celebration to me and more of a goodbye. Goodbye to the girls I once thought I’d never let go of and now only see once a month. Goodbye to the passions I’ll inevitably have to give up. Goodbye to the 2000s movies I thought I’d always reflect on. Goodbye to knowing everything about my life — where and who I was.
You Can’t Have Your Cake and Eat It Too
One of the things that comes with growing up is pursuing your passions — that’s the whole point of college, right? But what if someone has no idea what they want to be, when they want to be it, or how to do it? Then you become overwhelmed with the opportunities around you and do everything you can, not wasting a day. This is growing up, caring and working toward your future — and while that’s mostly rewarding, I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t stressful. I remember going about my high school days, just doing things I loved because I loved them, trying my best because I knew I could. But coming to college feels different. You feel like you have to get good grades to succeed, so you push your limits. You don’t want to give up your passions, so you squeeze them in at the end of the day. You take on multiple clubs while still volunteering, just because you don’t know what you want to be — so you have to try your best everywhere. Coming from an English major who is pre-med and involved in an array of art and science based clubs, this perfectly describes me.
Blowing Out The Candles
Nothing ever lasts forever. This is a phrase that haunts me, coming from a person who dreads change. Especially on birthdays, it feels like instead of people singing a happy song to you, this phrase lingers in the back of your mind. Even though I don’t want to get older, this doesn’t mean I don’t think I’ll be happy later on, or that I’m not happy right now. It just means that things won’t be the same, and that’s what I hate. I hate it because, as much as everyone wants to be grateful for the things in our everyday lives, I think we forget what a blessing the small things are: The fact that there will be a last day I eat with my friends. A time when I’m not able to pursue my interests as easily as I do now. A time when my best friend won’t live in the same room as me. The fact that I’ll forget the plot of some of the books I’ve read, or that all my old teachers’ faces will become blurry in my mind. I can already feel this change overflowing too. I think I feel it most when people ask me what I’m going to do in the future, but also when I visit my younger siblings and miss out on their games or performances. I feel time moving faster when I start journaling less and realize my old best friend doesn’t know anything about me now.
A Cherry on Top
I do think it’s fun to imagine an older version of myself. I don’t really know anything about her, and that’s why I think it’s so hard to want to get older — because I already know everything about my past life. I still remember my favorite songs, what it was like to go to Disneyland for the first time, landing a pirouette on pointe, and even my freshman schedule. But I don’t know who I’ll be at 25, where I’ll live, or what will happen by the time I get there. I still feel 16, and I think most others do too — or they wish they did. You can see it in songs about youth, like “Long Live and Nothing New” by Taylor Swift, or “Teenage Dream” by Olivia Rodrigo. I think Taylor describes my thoughts well when she asks, “How can a person know everything at 18 but nothing at 22?” I never understood that line until recently. You have so much hope, so many dreams, and plans when you’re younger. But once you get older and have to settle, the world feels more real, and those plans or ideas don’t seem so perfect anymore.
A Slice for Everyone
Part of me wants to end this article by saying that I wish you could live in a certain time forever, or go back to a specific moment whenever you wanted, but I realize that would take all the blessings out of the memory itself. If I could go back to the moment I fell in love at 16 over and over again, at a certain point, I wouldn’t want to anymore. It would become indifferent to any other day that year. As much as I want to stop time or go back, I know the whole point of moving on is cherishing and giving energy to the good times you did have — serving as a reminder of so many more to come. When I think about this fact, I don’t feel so afraid to turn 19 because I don’t know what that extra candle on my cake holds for me. I was afraid to come to college, but I love my life here in San Marcos. I never thought I’d be able to dance, work on a fashion show, write for a magazine, study English and biology, and give speeches — all while meeting some of the most hardworking and kind people I’ve ever met. While moving here was terrifying and a huge adjustment, I believe it has already made me a better person. So maybe you can’t be the same person forever. Maybe you’ll lose a lot, win along the way, and be a little nostalgic half the time. But maybe — just maybe — that’s exactly how it’s supposed to be.