The future
What’s next?
I am now 21, an age I was always excited to reach when I was younger. I assumed it would come with so much fun, freedom, and cool grown-up stuff, but the older I get, the more I wish I could go back and enjoy my childhood a little more.
I remember watching that one Jimmy Neutron episode where they travelled to the future and saw their life as adults, and I’d think, “Oh, I wonder what mine would look like.” As a child, thinking about the future was exciting. But now that I’m an adult, about to graduate with my bachelor’s degree, I find myself feeling increasingly scared of what lies ahead and nostalgic for what I’ve left behind.
The first ever big decision I ever had to make was choosing my major. Well, I didn't quite get to make that one.
I had always wanted to be an architect. I loved imagining myself as one, dressing up as one on career days. Among my siblings, who’d change their answers to the “what do you wanna be when you grow up?” question, my answer always remained the same: “I want to be an architect,” and it was one of those things that made the future so exciting to imagine. “Oh, imagine all I do is what I love.”
From a young age, I explored drawing, proportions, shapes, mathematics, and numbers. At first, it was just me doodling on pieces of paper: “This will be my house; then this is my sister’s; this is for my brother…” Then, at thirteen, I learned how to 3D model, and I began building the houses I had once drawn as a child. I continued pursuing that dream until my final year of high school, when it was crushed.
That was when my parents took the phrase “Study something you love, and you won’t work a day in your life” and turned it into “Study something you love, and you won’t work a day in your life, because that field isn’t hiring.”
Suddenly, I felt like everything I lived was sort of a lie, that my identity was fake, that there was no longer anything to look forward to. The future wasn't really as fun and dreamy as I imagined as a child; it was harsh. You don't always get to do what you like; you won’t always be able to live off something that brings you joy.
The support I had hoped for from my parents turned into a constant stream of examples of people who had studied architecture and failed to find jobs. Instead of showing me female architects who had excelled in their fields and fought to reach the places where they now shine, they searched for every person they knew who was unemployed because they couldn’t find work in their chosen field.
And at some point, amidst all this, I realized that no amount of crying would save me from the future they think fits me. So I accepted it, and that was the first moment I felt life lose a little bit of its meaning. The first moment looking into my future felt slightly dimmer.
Get ʚïɞ’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
Four years went by; I am now dreading the future that is coming next: the rest of my life.
Senior year of college is always painted as the “FINALLY” stage. You’ve made it through the years of studying, the sleepless nights, and the endless assignments. You’re almost there. You should be excited.
But no one prepared me for the weight of the question that comes with it: “What’s next?”
“You will continue with post-graduate studies, right?”
“You need to find a job and excel in it to be something.”
“You need to jump on the train before it runs you over.”
Suddenly, the whole year feels like it’s rushing by, and you’re constantly left feeling like you’re missing out, falling behind, or arriving too late.
“Those few years are what determine your entire future; work harder now, and you will rest for the rest of your life”
Suddenly, the moment I used to dream of catching a glimpse of as a child is here, and all I want to do is slow down time and make it stop.
I already feel the disappointment of others in the person I didn't yet become; I already feel like I am not capable of doing it; I am not capable of being the person that satisfies them, and I am certainly not capable of being the person my younger self wished to be.
The word “next” is sounding dimmer and dimmer.
