Back when I was 12, people told me 17 would be the best year of my life. Not people exactly, a movie told me 17 would be the best year of my life. It has been so long I don’t remember the title of the movie anymore. All I remember was that it was a movie about the soldiers that were sent to war. They left home at 17, the best year of their life, and many never made it back. The scene of them waving goodbye to their mothers still haunt me till today.
Then when I was 17, people told me 18 would be the best year of my life. I would be starting college and my life would change. I remembered at 18, standing in front of the gate of my new college in a foreign country. I toughed myself up and walked in, carrying with me my parents’ hope and expectations. I was so young then and so brave.
Then people told me I should celebrate my 21 hard, because that would be the best year of my life. I finally got to do everything. I had my first 21-year-old drink at my home country where I was legal since 18. I took that sip of beer in the presence of my whole family and that was enough for me. Throughout the rest of my college days, I got so much cash from all the people that asked me to buy alcohol for them and they paid me back in cash.
And then I graduated from college. I got multiple different jobs. I got a graduate degree. I got a boyfriend, then a husband. I got a promotion. I got a raise. I did many things ever since I was 21, but nobody told me about an age that should be the best year of my life anymore. And I do yearn for that some time. I wanted back the days that I didn’t mind getting older, that a birthday meant more than just a number, that people told me something about my own future and I believed immediately.