Life is but a dream
If the life expectancy of human beings is a century, then I’ve covered the first quarter of my life so far.
Most of my peers, at least in recent years, have been going through the so-called quarter-life crisis — that phenomenon psychologists would normally characterize as anxiety or confusion in the overall direction and tenor of one’s life. I think I’ve gone through that stage in my life earlier than most. I was probably 18 when I started contemplating on existential matters.
“What do I really want in life?” “Why am I here?” “What meaning and purpose does my existence have?” I’ve asked myself these questions too many times in the past that I now have come to a point when I’m not only cognizant but also certain about the choices I make, at least most of them.
I tend to exude an aura of independence and self-sufficiency. I’ve heard other people describe me as “too mature for my age” — and I used to take pride in such thought.
As a young child, my mother, who went abroad for work, expected me to take over the management of our house. Somehow, around the age of eight, I reveled in the idea that I didn’t need help from my sisters when it came to doing school assignments or household chores. As years went by, now as a young adult and a professional, I enjoy the thought of living on my own and within my means.
Just this Wednesday, a younger colleague, after having wished me well for my birthday, jerked, “Grabe, CS! 26 ka na, tapos may condo ka na saka jowa.” There was some sense of awe and admiration in her tone. It’s as if I have everything figured out in life, but this isn’t the case. In fact, it’s far from my reality.
Like everyone else, I have my fair share of personal storms and drought, some of which I struggle with to this day.
One of the saddest things I learned about adulthood is realizing and having to accept that the ambitions we had when we were young — all our ideals and high hopes for the future — aren’t realistic and practical, so much so that eventually we will have to settle for far less than our fickle minds allowed us to dream.
I remember when I was about seven or eight, I would dream of having a mansion, with an enormous library, lots of bedrooms, including the maid’s quarters, a labyrinthine garden, and a swimming pool. Now I find it funny to even think about how I ever thought that was possible. Sure, I have my own space now, but my library has become a shelf, and the mansion has morphed into a less-than-24-square-meter condominium unit in some high-rise building in a crowded city.
No doubt, this is quite far from my dreams, but I’ve learned to settle.
At 10, I thought I would marry by 25. A year older now than what used to be my ideal marrying age, I’m not even sure if I’m ready to be a wife. Now that I think about it, I remember how I used to imagine having a lavish church wedding — flowers adorning the red carpet to the dome, with every aisle and pew filled with roses and tulips and lilies; every guest wears a personalized clothing that fits the wedding theme and motif; and a group of violinists and harpists would play my well-loved songs.
Now, I don’t see how even an eighth of this fantasy wedding can happen. At least as of this writing, I see myself getting married in our city hall with only select friends and family as guests, the total number of whom I can count in both hands. I don’t even care so much now about getting a diamond ring. All I need is a piece of jewelry, simple yet elegant, that fits my finger perfectly and would not tarnish after several wears.
^ Courtesy of thefangirlproject.com
They say dreams without plans are just wishes.
But I’ve got plans, alright — plenty. I break my goals down and write lists upon lists, as I try to find time for every task. I thought it’d be enough if I had every detail sorted, from the big picture to the most minute element, but in a New York Times newsletter, I learned my fault:
It’s sadly true. A quick check on my lists of goals and tasks would show how ambitious and daring I am. No wonder, I keep failing at follow-through.
Thing is, no matter how it seems on the outside, I don’t have everything figured out. No one does. As Jason Mraz would sing:
According to the World Health Organization (WHO), the average life expectancy of the global population in 2016 is 72 years. Well, taken literally, our quarter-life crisis should’ve been at the age of 18. See? I guess I’m not as mature and advanced as most people think. •
Most of my peers, at least in recent years, have been going through the so-called quarter-life crisis — that phenomenon psychologists would normally characterize as anxiety or confusion in the overall direction and tenor of one’s life. I think I’ve gone through that stage in my life earlier than most. I was probably 18 when I started contemplating on existential matters.
“What do I really want in life?” “Why am I here?” “What meaning and purpose does my existence have?” I’ve asked myself these questions too many times in the past that I now have come to a point when I’m not only cognizant but also certain about the choices I make, at least most of them.
I tend to exude an aura of independence and self-sufficiency. I’ve heard other people describe me as “too mature for my age” — and I used to take pride in such thought.
As a young child, my mother, who went abroad for work, expected me to take over the management of our house. Somehow, around the age of eight, I reveled in the idea that I didn’t need help from my sisters when it came to doing school assignments or household chores. As years went by, now as a young adult and a professional, I enjoy the thought of living on my own and within my means.
Just this Wednesday, a younger colleague, after having wished me well for my birthday, jerked, “Grabe, CS! 26 ka na, tapos may condo ka na saka jowa.” There was some sense of awe and admiration in her tone. It’s as if I have everything figured out in life, but this isn’t the case. In fact, it’s far from my reality.
Like everyone else, I have my fair share of personal storms and drought, some of which I struggle with to this day.
One of the saddest things I learned about adulthood is realizing and having to accept that the ambitions we had when we were young — all our ideals and high hopes for the future — aren’t realistic and practical, so much so that eventually we will have to settle for far less than our fickle minds allowed us to dream.
I remember when I was about seven or eight, I would dream of having a mansion, with an enormous library, lots of bedrooms, including the maid’s quarters, a labyrinthine garden, and a swimming pool. Now I find it funny to even think about how I ever thought that was possible. Sure, I have my own space now, but my library has become a shelf, and the mansion has morphed into a less-than-24-square-meter condominium unit in some high-rise building in a crowded city.
No doubt, this is quite far from my dreams, but I’ve learned to settle.
At 10, I thought I would marry by 25. A year older now than what used to be my ideal marrying age, I’m not even sure if I’m ready to be a wife. Now that I think about it, I remember how I used to imagine having a lavish church wedding — flowers adorning the red carpet to the dome, with every aisle and pew filled with roses and tulips and lilies; every guest wears a personalized clothing that fits the wedding theme and motif; and a group of violinists and harpists would play my well-loved songs.
Now, I don’t see how even an eighth of this fantasy wedding can happen. At least as of this writing, I see myself getting married in our city hall with only select friends and family as guests, the total number of whom I can count in both hands. I don’t even care so much now about getting a diamond ring. All I need is a piece of jewelry, simple yet elegant, that fits my finger perfectly and would not tarnish after several wears.
^ Courtesy of thefangirlproject.com
They say dreams without plans are just wishes.
But I’ve got plans, alright — plenty. I break my goals down and write lists upon lists, as I try to find time for every task. I thought it’d be enough if I had every detail sorted, from the big picture to the most minute element, but in a New York Times newsletter, I learned my fault:
There’s a “predisposition of humans to underestimate the time it takes to complete a thing” called the planning fallacy, which leads us to overcommit to opportunities at the expense of actually completing them, said Greg McKeown, author of “Essentialism” (one of my favorite books).
It’s sadly true. A quick check on my lists of goals and tasks would show how ambitious and daring I am. No wonder, I keep failing at follow-through.
Thing is, no matter how it seems on the outside, I don’t have everything figured out. No one does. As Jason Mraz would sing:
Ain’t we making it up, we’re making it all up
What else can we do?
Yeah, we’re making it up, we’re making it all up
It’s the only way to get through
According to the World Health Organization (WHO), the average life expectancy of the global population in 2016 is 72 years. Well, taken literally, our quarter-life crisis should’ve been at the age of 18. See? I guess I’m not as mature and advanced as most people think. •
Well, there’s more to this life
More than what you see
It’s true what they say
That life is but a dream
So row your boat gently
Gently down the stream
And keep dreaming your dream