I remember being younger and smaller and looking up to people in their 20s with this rose-tinted lens; of hope, of admiration, of wonderment. These people looked so aspirational, so sorted, so aware of who they were and what they did. While I observed them with a glass of Pepsi in my hand, they looked so damn cool discussing ‘office’ with a beer in theirs. Office. It seemed like the be-all-and-end-all at that age. All roads led there. It was to be the outcome of the rigors and pain of filling notebooks and giving exams during school time. Life would be sorted, I was told. Just work hard during school.

Seeing that most of us are exactly where we had aspired to as children, is another feeling. We’ve not really settled into our shirts and pants, our ties feel a bit too tight, and that wristwatch seems a bit too heavy. We’re more comfortable discussing TV characters than colleagues. We aren’t accustomed to hear our superiors’ domestic tales. People who we picked as friends when we were 8 have started picking out life partners. And we’re still stuck on quoting Barney Stinson and Chandler Bing to Tinder matches that live shorter than an episode of those shows. Our larger-than-life aspirations are being bludgeoned by the hammer of practicality. Seeing that we are becoming what we once hoped to, doesn’t feel as good as it should have.

If adulthood were a facility, I would have called Customer Service and asked for a refund. Or at least an Instruction Manual. But all I have are strange testimonials. That of friends, family, teachers, strangers, leaders et al. People who’ve lived longer than I have and who did things much like I’m expected to. The interesting thing is, I listen to them but I think I’m different. That I’ll figure it out my own way. That I can afford to ignore what they did and still escape the mistakes they say I’m headed towards. Is that wishful thinking? Because I too, when asked for advice on odd moments, reflect upon what I didn’t see. I too, make a point of highlighting my myopia and YET I see the look in the other person’s eyes that says that he won’t do what I did. It’s the circle that never ends.

I’m expected to have my own life charted out when for 90% of it so far, the furthest I looked ahead was the quiz coming next Monday. I’m expected to handle my money, my career, my health, and my relationships but all I can remember from years of school-work is ‘Mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell’. People say that at this age, I have the power to change the world. Us, collectively, have the power to change the world. And all I can think of is that I haven’t even changed the bedsheet in a month.

We may talk big from behind our screens- of revolutions, of change, of power. But when it comes to it, we struggle to exercise any. We’re called privileged and lazy and selfish. We don’t value what we have and we don’t understand the pain the generations above us took to get us here. But how do we appreciate your struggles to walk miles to school when YOU made sure we breathed our first breath under an AC and that our path to education was paid for by a school bus that picked and dropped us safely?

We are spoilt for choice. Be it food, clothes, careers, or even people. A better option is always just another mile away. We want to keep our options open but are baffled to see that we are someone else’s. We’ve grown up hearing that we’re something special so our sheer mediocrity is too harsh to handle. We’re struggling to hold onto our mental health and struggling even more to tell others around us that things aren’t what our filtered, sunny, reverent Instagrams may suggest. We’re quick to tell others that ‘I’m here if you need me, just reach out’, but strangely hesitant to do so ourselves. We want to stand out in the crowd but we try every new fad because ‘I just want to see what the fuss is about’.

It’s strange to know that people younger to me ask me for advice. Genuine, life-altering advice. What college to pick, what course to do, what to study, what to not. It’s a sobering thought, to say the least. I am expected to distill my limited two decades of ‘wisdom’ into a concise thought. I, who still takes 10 minutes to scope out Zomato, only to order from Domino’s; I, who chooses Kurkure over Lay’s because the packet is fuller for the same price; I, who finds the pinnacle of comedy in cringe-worthy puns; I am supposed to tell you how to chart your life!? I can’t handle the burden of playing with your life when I’m already playing with mine buddy.

The truth is that we are clueless. Utterly, overwhelmingly, regretfully clueless. And we don’t know where to turn to. So we burrow into our phones and find solace in scores of people our age vocalizing this shared cluelessness. We feel comfort with every passing nihilist, cynical, topical meme that if we’re headed somewhere downhill, at least we’re not alone. It’s the blind leading the blind.

There is no spell that can break this monotony, no enlightenment in a book that’ll bring our minds clarity. All we can hope is that through a spontaneous and miraculous series of trials and errors, we may end up somewhere we can make our peace with. That the roads not taken may not burden us in the end.

Growing up is fine. The realization that we are, is anything but.