Waiting Until The Day I Find My Voice
Apparently, I wrote this almost a year ago. I had no idea it was living in my drafts, but I think it is a snapshot of my life worth sharing. Things are different now. I think for the better. I hope you can find some solace in this unfinished dialogue of 19-year old Jasmine. :)
These days, I find myself psyching myself out.
My inside voice says something like:
“Jasmine, can you believe that you’re almost TWO DECADES OLD?!”
The notion of measuring my time on Earth by the powerful metric of age can be soul-crushing.
I’m On A Bridge
I am 19 years old and in college. In other words, I am walking the brittle bridge between my childhood and adulthood. This time feels so critical — so important in determining my fate for the rest of my life. If I miss one opportunity, the bridge is sure to shatter into pieces. This may be due to the sheer pressure-cooker essence of college life or due to my constant inquiry of growing up. The feeling is dizzying, exciting, yet bittersweet.
Every day that I walk across this bridge, I am learning that this journey of crossing the bridge is different for everyone. It is shorter for some and longer for others. It is more restrictive for others and freer for some. For me, the journey has been anything but linear. I feel like I’ve hiked for miles, longing for the other side of the bridge but then I find myself walking backward a hundred spaces. It feels like I’m back to square 1, living through bad habits I’ve condemned and allowing fears to completely constrict my ability to move.
I’ll be honest. This metamorphizing bridge can feel like the extreme discomfort of pure uncertainty. So, we hold on to the ropes of the bridge for verification of every plank we step on. Did I take the right step? Will I take the right step? These beacons of verification reveal themselves in the form of the comfortable security of practicality. By taking the steps that are weathered because of heavy traffic, we trust that the step will secure our safe travel to the other side. In other words, if others have taken this step, then I should be safe, right? However, if the step is also weathered, there is also a chance that the plank will break and you will fall through the bridge. I see this as the inevitable doom that is infused into decisions that are made out of pure selflessness. We care too much about the expectations of the world, our peers, our family, and our friends. We forget to be selfish and ignore the less beaten steps of the bridge. The ones that have experienced less traffic, and whose physical integrity is obscure. If we never take the step, we may never realize that it is actually the most sturdy and will provide us with the gusto to be less scared and apprehensive of every step we take across the bridge. You can see that I cannot describe this bridge as a sure construction of planks that will guarantee a safe trip across. Whether the plank is weathered or not, each step requires the person to take a chance. I call this topsy turvy mess of growing up a journey towards finding my voice.
I don’t think that I’ve found my voice yet. Yes, as I stroll into adulthood, I don’t believe that I have found my voice. It’s scary to say this because I’ve grown with the impression that my courage and voice will be extremely helpful tools in fighting off the evil of the real world. But to that I say, I’m just fine.
As a highly impressionable kid, I followed the path of everyone else around me. I tried hard in school, went from K-12, became motivated to go to a good college, and…well…that’s it. From there, I got nothing. The moment that I crossed the threshold of receiving my education in my hometown, I started attending the soft opening of the real world. It’s not the grand opening yet. But rather, I am experiencing a newfound sense of independence, accountability, and freedom in college. However, I am still not fully independent from the secure grasp of school and my tuition-paying family.
