On Youth: Musings of an Old Soul

In our youth, we try so hard to strip ourselves from all things childish, yet we often end up longing for those very things once we grow up. From the moment of birth to his late teen years, the child plays at adulthood, imitating its seriousness, never grasping its burdens. He tries to rid himself of his immaturity, mimicking the peculiar and often fallacious affairs of those older than him in a desperate attempt to move beyond his current childish reality. Perhaps it is the folly of youth to believe in the permanence of innocence and the simplicity of adulthood. To them, the adult is a free man, emancipated from responsibilities who goes anywhere he wishes, and does as he pleases. What isn’t there to look forward to? 

Then comes the final moment when the mere child crosses the bridge to become an adult. A new chapter of sorts in the story of life, if you will. Still, it often happens that the changed life becomes the normalized life, the novelty wears off, and it’s not long before it’s forgotten. That’s when the true responsibilities of adulthood set in and reality hits like a brick. From paying rent to filing tax returns to all the wonders age brings to the body, the child-turned-adult will quickly realize that adulthood is just another difficult (if not more difficult) stage in life. Yes, an adult does make his own decisions, but at what cost? Repaying mortgages? Joint pain? That sinking feeling when one realizes he will be living in his run-down Honda Civic if he can’t find a job in the next month, and that there is no more safety net or the comfort of financially stable parents? These children had the privilege of time but squandered it away with their false fantasies of adulthood. Then again, what more can we expect from our youth? 

Finally, if God (or luck) is on our side, we will live to an old age and sit in our rocking chairs, filled with nostalgia. Still, the times we reminisce won’t be the moments spent hunched over spreadsheets and filing tax returns. The moments we will remember the most are from our youth, when life was much simpler and innocent, unburdened by the responsibilities of adulthood and the mess that comes with it. Ignorance truly is bliss. And once we realize this, we will shake our fists at the Heavens for stealing our youth away so quickly, when the only people we can blame are ourselves. 

I am seventeen years old. Yet, within these seventeen years, I have lived a lifetime; I often feel like an old man who is nostalgic for the things that were, sentimental for the things that may be. I fondly recall the times of youth, when I myself was a young, ambitious, and foolish child. Going to a small Catholic school in the suburbs of North Vancouver, I was at the top of my classes. My assumption was that the faster I progressed in school, the faster I’d progress in life and thus become a mature human being. Still, this mindset ended up costing me dearly. No, it wasn’t burnout or bad grades; I was excelling in my classes. It was something more valuable than that: my youth. I was too busy to hang out with friends, too busy to go for a weekend hike, too busy to enjoy life. What was the point? In the long term, studying and learning would get me further than all of my grade school peers. They’re going to regret not studying arithmetic and not reading the works of Shakespeare, Hemingway, and the wonderful Dostoevsky at this age. Yes, I was trying so hard to progress in life that I forgot to pause and savor the moment, and that was my gravest mistake. I grew up too quickly. I forgot to live. 

The truth is, that A+ I received in Pre-Calculus 12 doesn’t mean anything in ten years. Heck, I’ll probably forget about it in three. However, those memories with friends and family, of the fun times in the past, they’ll last a lifetime. Even now, my best memories of my time in Canada aren’t the hours I spent cooped up in my room, furiously taking notes as Sal Khan explained the quadratic formula. In fact, I barely remember that. The best memories were the (albeit few) times I spent with friends: the time we went fishing in the local park until we got kicked out, the time we spent waging battles in snow forts. Yes, those moments of childish innocence and naïveté, when we acted like the kids we were. These are the memories I will never forget.

Even in my current school, I’ve seen people aging too quickly. Time, it seems, is the one teacher no child heeds. I’ve had younger students come up to me and ask about skip tests, math olympiads, and course workloads. Whenever this happens, in truth, I find myself quite at a loss. Here are children who are trying so hard to grow up, trying to rid themselves of their youthfulness and their pure innocence, tainting their lives with the trials and tribulations of adulthood without realizing the precious moments being squandered away. How shortsighted and, oddly, childish of them to do so. Still, I do see my younger self in these students: ambitious and naïve youth full of passion and energy to tackle life. Youth who believe their self-worth is dictated by a letter on a piece of paper or a title next to their name. Youth who think stressing about exams is a “hardship.” So, my response to these young souls is always the same, and is the same thing I would say to my younger self: enjoy your vitality, spend time with others, and create memories. Sure, my answer often elicits a queer look and an eyeroll, but sooner or later, they will come to understand this. Everyone eventually does, whether they’re a few months away from throwing their graduation caps or when coins are finally placed over their eyes. 

I'll state my case, of which I'm certain. Though I am legally a minor, I feel—in my mind—an old soul who has already lived to a ripe age. But that’s the irony of life, isn’t it? The paradox of the human condition. I have indeed lived a life that’s full in these seventeen years. I have enjoyed massive successes, faced devastating failures, flirted with danger, laughed, cried, contemplated, and even tried to decipher the strange language one calls love. I’ve had a few regrets in my life, but then again, too few to mention. I have seen and heard things I will never be able to forget, and have done things that have changed my life forever, either for better or for worse (though it’s often the latter). 

Still, there is time for me. I’m at the cusp of a new beginning, the epoch of a new era, and so, I face the final curtain. Perhaps I can cross the bridge into adulthood equipped with the wisdom and politic of already being one. Perhaps I will remain a shallow fool, oblivious to the dangers and the twists of life but living happily without a care. Regardless, it will be my way, not the way of anyone else.

Still, after all’s said and done, this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of a new beginning.