LIFE
Why Having A Young Adult At Home Is Difficult
An honest interview with me — a young, young-adult
My parents think I’m crazy these days. Some times. Most times. All times.
As a kid, I was silent. A kid whose voice you rarely heard. One who walked around the house clutching her grandmother’s dress tightly in her hands, showing no hints of becoming annoying. Even a teeny tiny bit.
They should have known what I was when as a 7 year old, I worked on my first project “Making Humans Fly”. I practiced jumping down any stairs I could find, in the hope that one day I would fly down the steps and land elegantly like the fairy in the book I was reading.
I was very efficient in my work.
I looked at birds for at least 15 minutes daily. I wore bat-like dresses to glide smoothly through the air. I worked out flapping my hands in very different ways to see which position of my limbs would give the best momentum and projectile for my flight. All very silently.
And when it never worked, I never stopped.
My height and weight grew. My ability to jump down stairs grew. The count of steps I jumped down from grew. I grew. My parents grew. Everyone grew. But did humans fly?
I’m yet to submit the result of my experiment.
That was just the beginning.
Last week a colleague asked my dad “It was always easy for you. But it should be easier now, right? Now that she is grown up and all…”.
My dad was shocked. Paralyzed by what he just heard. “My daughter? Easy? Now? That she is grown up? You are living life in a delusion.”
Life as a college student is different for me.
In some countries, I know it’s normal to leave your house once you turn 18. But mine has it all different. There is no sudden change from “caring” to “go build your own life” from family members. We are stuck with each other as long as we wish.
So yes, I live with my parents.
When I’m happy, they are happy. When I’m disturbed, they are disturbed. When I’m excited, they are excited. When I’m restless, they are restless. When I’m sad, they are sad. They feel my emotions. I feel their emotions. We feel each other’s emotions. And it’s not exactly fun when you have a young adult — with chaotic emotions in place — at home.
Until last year, I was praised for having a bit too much maturity for my age. Maybe I used a bit too much of it. Because most times now, I don’t know where it has gone.
I’m at a point where my favourite pastime is reading through my past diaries, and hoping to see where my younger self bought that maturity from.
She didn’t care. Literally. About almost anything. Go to her and say “You are beyond words stupid”, she won’t care. That one-second look on her face will tell you everything you need to know about how important she thinks you are.
She didn’t take life seriously. Let alone what some random person says.
Maybe that’s the issue. Maybe we start taking life too seriously as we grow up. Maybe that bit of independence makes us take it too seriously. Maybe that’s what people mean when they say “keep your inner child alive”.
Emotions.
I have a very good control of them 99 percent of the time.
But trying to make sense of that one percent these days is like trying to play chess with a pigeon. No matter how good you are, it’s just going to knock over the pieces and strut around like it won. Yes.
I sometimes feel like a wolf in need of a pack, to stare at the moon. Sometimes when there are too many people around me, I feel like a vampire caught in broad daylight. Conflicting emotions when two conflicting sides of me interact with each other. That’s what it is.
Sometimes, I feel like a giant wave has hit me and I’m trying to return to my island. Sometimes, I feel like a fish trying to climb a tree. Sometimes, I feel nothing.
The one percent covers it all. Literally and figuratively.
Pretty confusing. While I can handle 99 percent of my mind on my own, that one percent is indescribable. I usually end up annoying my mom or anyone else within my close circle if she isn’t available. And trust me, they get annoyed pretty quickly. That talent of mine is also very indescribable.
I never know why I do that. Maybe it’s just me hoping that someone else might find it describable and help me get a little bit of sense into that pigeon.
Life is fascinating, for sure.
The future does not depend on the present alone. But the present depends on the past alone. At least a significant amount, if not entirely. Memories remain. Experiences remain. Learnings remain. While I used to let go so very easily, I see the real problem with letting go of the real stuff that doesn’t really help me in any way now.
The sixteen year old me wouldn’t have ever imagined that she could take something this seriously when it’s not supposed to be taken seriously. Figuring out certain stuff is a bit complicated as a young adult.
And I’m giving some real consideration to start jumping down stairs again. It might give some nice balance between the ‘young’ and the ‘adult’ parts of me.
But I’m growing. Really.
Ten years down the line, I’m not sure if my height and weight would have grown visibly. But my ability to handle this fascinating life would have. For sure. I would have grown. My parents would have grown. Everyone would have grown. Will having this young adult at home be easy by then?
Only that real adult by then will know.
