by Tarnia
I am 21 years old. I have just completed a Literature degree. I have no real ties. I am free. I am often not excited. I am often petrified.
University was always the plan for me. It was something expected of me, and something I expected of myself. It provided a framework for my adolescent life, it was what I was aiming for, and it was there I would learn, laugh, love and flourish, and in many ways I did. Whilst I have come up against some blows these past three years, I have also learnt more about myself, and the world around me than I ever imagined I would. I met wonderful people, some of whom I hope to have in my life always, and for this I am truly thankful. The trouble is, I never thought about what would come after university, or rather, I didn’t consider that I might not have absolute control over what would come after, no matter how clear my ideals were.
Before going, myself and no doubt many other students, imagine that everything will just slot into place once studying ceases. Imagine my horror then, as I find myself on the ledge of life, terrified of jumping off, but knowing the window I crawled out of has closed now forever. And sometimes I wish I could just climb back inside, because I can’t even remember why I wanted to clamber onto this ledge in the first place, it’s not so thrilling after all. I could die. I could jump, and crash to floor, all my hopes and dreams evaporating along the way. Or maybe I won’t even make it to the ground, maybe I’ll get swallowed up by the gulf of air between that ledge and whatever lies bellow. It sounds dramatic, and indeed it is, because this point that I find myself at now is unlike any I have known before.
You see, it’s not like finding yourself middle aged, and unhappy and either deciding to, or being forced to, reinvent yourself. That kind of reinvention means you must learn to access an inner strength that has been developing your whole life. This inner strength may have shrunken to what seems a mere husk, but it is tried and tested. It’s very much about getting back in touch with who you are. But what if you don’t know who you are yet? What if all you have is a rough sketch of who you want to be, who you feel destined to be? When I was little I used to draw elaborate evening gowns, and my dream wedding dress. Those creations were tenderly born, and nowhere were they more beautiful than in my mind because I wanted them to become real one day. But what if all of those possibilities get stuffed into a shabby folder in the back of a wardrobe, their colours fading beneath a film of dust?
The possibility of failure is crippling, so much so you don’t know how to start this new life. Those same beaming faces that dismiss your anxiety with a flick of a hand or a cackle, are the same ones telling you won’t ever own a house or get a job, or own anything that can’t fit into a bin liner. It’s like, ‘you’re young it’s amazing, but you’ll be poor forever and probably won’t actually reach your potential anyway, but be happy because you’re young!’ Sometimes you feel defeated before you’ve even begun, and that is the very thought that myself and the majority of my friends keep returning to. It is the thought that you daren’t say aloud because, ‘you’re 21! The world’s your oyster! What worries do you have? I’d love to be starting out again!’And so you feel guilty, and stupid and still very lost, all at the same time. It’s not that I don’t relish my youth, my freedom, and my unwritten future. I am excited, I love life, I want to make the most of the time I have on this earth, I want to make the most of me, but I am scared, and I don’t quite know how my dreams will change from opal coloured mush to a real and solid life. And at the same time feel like I am mourning my childhood. Having spent a good while wishing it over, thinking adulthood is a glossy and delicious chapter that cannot come quick enough, I am terrified now I must forge a life for myself, away from the security of my family, of my naivety, of my belief in invincibility, in magic.
But actually, I don’t think you ever stop believing in magic. It is a cruel cold world out there, but not always. It is also beautiful, and full of hope and inspiration, and love. I pray to whatever deity lingers above me as I look up into the sky, that I will find the currently fragile, but ever growing strength to launch straight into whatever lies ahead of me, and most of all I pray I will find the inner strength to know that I can overcome the knocks, the falls, the pain, the sorrow. It is that belief that is real freedom, because that is life.
