22

The 20 somethings and permanence.

Camus said, “The literal meaning of life is whatever you are doing that prevents you from killing yourself.”

Hello you!

This should have been in your email earlier, I know. :( — By now, you should know I’m a rambler, do not expect some SEO article. I jus been saying shi that pops up.

So… here goes my happy birthday scribble on permanence!

Nostalgic Wallpapers. Wallpaper Access.

Your 20s allow you to understand your mother more than you ever have. I know more than I’ve ever known. I don’t know anything at all. I’m eight years old, sixteen, twenty-two and seventy-five. I can’t tell when I’m happy or if I even have to worry about that. I take walks in lonely places and feel like nothing matters more than that. In my bedroom, everything matters so much. I can cook a lot of things, but I only eat rice. I have so many outfits, I only wear the same three pairs of pants, shorts, and about four shirts. I can take care of myself but I want to be taken care of. I want to go home, sometimes I feel like I don’t know where that is. I think it may be somewhere inside of me but I’m not sure.

I saw a tweet, defining the Unsure Stage. That phase where you don’t know wtf is going on, but you living and killing it anyway. Children of God, na there I dey lidis o.

The loneliness of young adulthood is too real. So real.

What is it about getting older that makes every interaction feel so sentimental? Like saying goodbye to people used to be just a ‘see you around’ sort of thing, and now it’s a whole declaration of love for the person and the position they’ve held in my life condensed into a hug or a ‘take care of yourself.’ urgh

Growing up, I naively had a feeling that everything would be permanent — that the friends I met on the playground and at childhood birthday parties would be here right now. That my parents were immortal and would be with me every step of the way, that my first love would be my last love (because love always lasts forever, right?).

Gradually, I realized that we do not live infinitely — our lives, and most things in them, are finite. School ends, friends move somewhere else, family members grow old and pass away, ‘love’ turns out to be a temporary obsession and your favorite show ends. You need to see my face when I heard Teen Wolf wasn’t coming back. Ngl, I’ll trade some of you for another season of that show. I’m kidding though, I love you fellas too much.

Two seasons? Did someone say two seasons? Oops!

It turns out, I do not fully despise growing older. Each day, I learn more about myself and how I work as a person. Discovering my style (and also realizing I need loads of money to fully bring out that style), what brands of juice I like (give me chi exotic and you are free to do whatever you like to me), how I want to be touched and loved, and understanding why I got furious in a conversation I had five years ago argh. There are so many mysteries inside me that I’m yet to unravel, and there will always be more, and I think maybe it’s all worth it. I think.

There is always sadness associated with endings. But there can also be joy because things don’t last forever.

Some, if not many — things are beautiful only because they do not last forever. Spending an amazing week with friends may not be as amazing if you had to spend a year with them.

Inevitably, the person you are right now won’t be the same forever. You’ll change, you’ll learn, and you’ll grow out of people and places. You’ll meet new people, you’ll move to new places, and you’ll find new hobbies and career ambitions.

As I said, your 20s are the loneliest. It cannot possibly get worse! It shouldn’t! Ah, I hope it doesn’t.

…

Moving on, it’s all nice to hear about the relationships that last forever and houses that are maintained in tip-top shape for generations. But in reality, it’s incredibly difficult to keep things that last for a lifetime. It’s compromise, it’s sweat and tears, and it’s hard work.

In reality, it’s quite easy to be tempted by the shine of new things rather than the wear and tear of old things.

But I’d like to think that the beauty of permanence does not lie in their perfection, but rather in its imperfection.

Yes, first-edition books in mint condition are beautiful to admire from afar. But an unknown copy of the same book with a withered cover and a weak spine is beautiful too — someone held the book in their hands and actually turned the pages. Maybe there are some pages where teardrops fell and dried up. A mint condition book is beautiful because of its perfection, but a used book is beautiful because, at some point, it was used, it was read, and it was loved.

Things that last a lifetime are not always perfect. They will lose their sheen and sparkle, as will every new thing you find. They will be challenging to maintain at times. But when you’ve resolved to retain something forever, then you have committed.

If it’s worth keeping, it’s worth maintaining. Find the beauty in the imperfection and the wear and tear, instead of the shine and sparkle.

…

One more thing

I like to believe our lives are mosaics of all the people we’ve ever met — some fragments come and go, but some stay embedded forever. My food preferences are shaped by what my Mum has fed me and the restaurants I’ve been introduced to by family and friends. I write a certain way because I received feedback from mentors many years ago. I play some games because my close friends introduced them to me. The list goes on.

I hope that in some way, I also have left a lasting piece of myself in the people that I’ve loved and have loved me. I’m not oblivious enough to expect it’ll always be the best piece — I’m sure I have hurt some people or left a nasty taste in the mouth of others (It’s not what you think).

But I hope that for the majority of people I’ve had an encounter with, I’ve been good enough to leave a small piece, whether it be something as small as opening the door for them or something as big as irrevocably altering the trajectory of their life (this one might be a tad out of line, but, we cannot remove the possibility, please).

Regardless of how I may have impacted others, I’m glad that I carry everyone I’ve ever met in a way, that I’m made up of pieces of everyone I’ve met, that I’ve learned something from the relationships I’ve ever had, and even if some of those pieces wither away, the ones that matter will last forever. And there will always be the morning after. And the morning after. And the morning after.

The show must go on until it doesn’t.