Sometimes, you remember things and still feel exactly how they felt at that time. As we grow older, we have gone more sentimental to the valuable experiences we had no idea we were making, in the middle of the demands and challenges of work, life, and personal adult struggles.
Indeed, it only took one song from my old playlist for me to have a trip to the past. When The 1975’s “You” played as I took a break from piles of papers, I closed my eyes with a supercut of nostalgia as I clearly remember my 18-year old self.
He was an idealist, and he vowed always to remain one. He loves the world, believes in good people, and never gives second thoughts to sacrifice his time and efforts to a nobler cause. He was quite an ambitious guy, and he puts so much of himself for excellence. He knows why he got up in the morning and why he strives to put so much work even into minor things.
He believed he was unique, but now reflecting on it, I think he wasn’t. However, the idea of him being unique gave him a sense of thrill and excitement. He always loves to be different in class. I remember him being so passionate to absorb new things and apply his twist to them.
He disgusts typical pop music and anything in the mainstream chart. Seriously, I would laugh now at how immature he was branding himself having the “better taste” in music. I mean, I still love all kinds of indie and alternative now, but I am now more open to entertaining any form of music.
He was so into discovering new music that he would dedicate half a day searching for contemporary artists and writing them in the notebook. This was still when Spotify wasn’t much relevant, so he jumped from one Youtube video to another, hoping to bump into something interesting.
He loved to write! He would write countless poems that didn’t mean anything and without poetic structure. Sometimes, he would go to open mic to do spoken poetry, which I now think he was not skilled enough. He loved to immortalize moments and write vague “poetic” text full of cringe and awe.
When he read Pablo Neruda’s “We Are Many,” he was shocked at how the poem resonated with him so much. He thought he was so different and that nobody could understand him, but it turned we can never be unique because we are many. He laughed at himself and made a deliberate move to move on from being the teenager in Lorde’s Pure Heroine theme.
I believe he cares a lot, and he tries to be a good guy. Although he tries so hard to step away from being this egoistic guy he was once in high school, he is such a sensitive baby when his pride is subjected to shame. He turns sad at little reasons and gets mad at people with different selfish justifications. I laugh that him being consistently late is something I still have, which I think I should intentionally cut from me.
He had friends that would sit down with him in front of the university gate to discuss things at 3 A.M. He would spend time with his friends “studying” till dawn in the university's dormitories, bringing up interesting topics on canteen tables. He experienced such closeness in bond with these people that somehow remains until now.
In retrospect, he was such a life wanderer. He was so eager for the world and so hopeful for tomorrow.
He was all these and more.
I was all those these, and more.
Although there was so much I despised about him; I loved most of his traits.
I miss him. I miss the parts of myself I lost on the way to becoming an adult. I miss being a life wanderer.
I have matured in a lot of ways. With it, I also lost meaningful things I valued before.
I miss the idea of being unique and how it pushed me to try creative ideas without any limitations, even if I fell hard to the ground.
I miss being an idealist and an excellence-hungry, ambitious individual, never settling for mediocre output that challenges me to do better every time.
I miss all the moments I had with my friends. Although we can still meet and enjoy so many things now, those were special times we can never recreate… remember.
Anyone can argue how we are just practically the same people over the years. They say we don’t significantly change and never lose parts of ourselves; it simply evolves. I believe, however, that we do.
It is essential for me as a teacher of 18-year old students to know that they will also outgrow themselves and that it is vital they hold on to the beautiful things they cherish when they become adults. Sometimes I see myself in them in ways I never would have expected, and I smile.
As I outgrow myself in the years to come, I have to cherish these meaningful things that remain with me. The parts of us that we lost, I believe, are still out there at arm's length.
