And It Hit Me In The Face

I am an adult.

It just hit me. Here I am, sitting at my desk (yes, I have nothing better to do), nearly through my fourth week of internship, eighteen years seven months and twenty-one days old, and it just hit me.

Dayumm, Lillian.

I sure as heck don’t feel like an adult. I didn’t wake up in May with the sudden urge to buy a house, drink beer, make aunty jokes at weddings and perm my hair. I still read kids’ fantasy. I still roll about the living room, flopped on the floor, watching any random cartoon that isn’t Rocket Monkeys or Kick Buttowski or, God forbid, NUMB CHUCKS. I haven’t gotten over Percy Jackson like my dad predicted, and I have not any burgeoning desire to read Khaled Hosseini or Haruki Murakami.

It also just hit me with the fact that many people my age have already:

a) built houses in Africa

b) programmed groundbreaking apps

c) built their own cars

d) learnt to speak 27 different languages

e) saved the world from annihilation

Okay, that last one isn’t true. But sometimes it makes me wonder what exactly I’m doing with my life. These kids have already accomplished so much, and here I am, trying to type out a personal statement without sounding unintelligent or confused while still being myself.

*throws hands up in the air*

AND I’M NOT ALLOWED TO BE SARCASTIC – because I am a mature, forward-thinking adult.

But I am an adult. I may still mess up the room I share with my sisters, accidentally scrape other cars while squeezing through lanes, get scolded by my mother, play the piano horribly, but I am an adult. I most certainly don’t feel like an adult, and I’m not sure I’m mentally prepared to be one. Some days I just want to curl up and hope that I turn into my six-year-old self again. I probably wouldn’t even mind that I would be overweight.

But I am an adult. And I will continue becoming an adult, although I need to keep reminding myself of that fact. One day, I’m sure I will remind myself of that fact so often that it will disappear altogether. I think that will be the day I become an adult.

And while I will continue becoming an adult, I will also continue getting older. One day, I will die. And then people will have a function all for my sake and I won’t be there to enjoy it. Oh, the irony. But maybe I won’t even have a funeral. Maybe by then the world and the environment will be so degraded humans will be dropping down like flies and death becomes a norm and no one will bother with funerals any more.

Now there’s a depressing thought.

But right now I have to get back to writing an intelligent and coherent personal statement.

I am an adult, I am an adult, I am an adult, I am –

 

GAIS HELP PLIS

Yeoww guys! It’s been a really long time since I posted something, so….here is something I cooked up for the Washington Essay. I hope you guys could help me out maybe? Please? I beg you? Suggestions on how to improve the essay and whether or not I sound like a human being and not a geek is very much appreciated. i really, really, sincerely, truly, absolutely, need your help. THANK YOU SO MUCH!!

Describe an experience of cultural difference, positive or negative, you have had or observed. What did you learn from it?

Drinking water never felt more sinful.

In a class of eighteen fasting Muslims, it felt as if every small move I made – sipping water, pushing back a loose strand of hair – was blasphemy. What was I doing here? A lone Chinese amongst the three hundred Malay scholars – I did not belong.

Everything I said, everything I did, was different. I spoke fluent English instead of Perakian Malay. I left my frizzy hair loose while every other girl wore a hijab. I sang One Day More in the shower instead of Getaran Jiwa.

For the first few weeks at INTEC, I was unhappy. I had no close friends save for my roommate. I could see no similarities, no common ground on which to spark a decent conversation.

Hence my last ditch attempt at the pursuit of happiness – fasting.

My friends giggled as I flopped into my seat, exhausted. Fasting was hard. I woke up before Subuh and stuffed myself with energy bars – a huge mistake. I spent the rest of the day uncomfortably thirsty, a strange taste developing in my mouth as the hours passed by. I finally found out how excruciating it is to stare at your fried noodles, honeyed date at the ready, while waiting for the azan to sound at Maghrib.

Maybe it was the lack of food and water that knocked some sense into me, but it occurred to me that maybe being the odd one out wasn’t so bad after all. I had been educated to respect, not to appreciate; trained to be considerate, but not to care. This was merely an opportunity to finally learn to understand, appreciate, and to truly care about a culture so close to mine.

Most importantly, I now know better than to have energy bars for Sahur.