Quarter Life Crisis - One Month Later

The first month following my 25th anniversary has been nothing but rough. I don't think I have ever hated and been proud of myself at the same time more than I do now.

It's weird (like everything else in life when you're in your 20s, I'm afraid). How come no one ever told me it was gonna be like this?

Honestly, I never quiet understood what "quarter life crisis" actually entails. Is it an emotional situation so bad that you want to rip your heart out every time you let yourself think about it? But I thought that was teenage angst--because if there's any advice soothing enough for me right now, it would be this:

That advice was given to Elio by his charming father in Call Me By Your Name. But Elio is a 17 year old gay kid who had a wonderful encounter with the strikingly handsome Oliver in a beautiful Italian countryside--not a 25 year old straight young woman in a cold Midwestern city struggling with the way things turned out to be for her. Elio's fear feels legit. My fear?

What do I tell my kids about all of these things?

I'm no Eliza Schuyler. I do want a legacy. For my kids. For little Shirley and Audrey who take ballet lessons after school. For their kids who will call me Nana. For my adopted son who was born out of wedlock by some couple who cannot afford childcare but were too scared to find an abortion clinic.

What do I tell them about how I lived my life?

There's just too many feelings--these days it feels a lot like reoccurring episode than just "an episode." I feel suffocated sometimes, because... feelings can be too much.

It's a mix of joy and pride, but mostly fear. Fear of whether I did the right thing. Fear of whether or not it is right that I'm proud about it. Fear of whether or not I should feel regret--because I don't regret any of it. Fear of... living with myself in the years to come. What kind of person will I turn out to be? Is this the real me? Is it not? Am I a monster?

I have so many questions. So many doubts.

Isn't it all the problems reserved for teenagers? Because this part of the monologue sounds awfully familiar to 16-year-old me:

The Morning After

When he said he was coming, she thought he was somewhere nearby. One Uber ride away, perhaps, or close enough that if she could see a dog-shaped cloud in the sky, he would see the same thing. Turns out, he had been driving an hour away from a neighboring town, straight after work, cancelled dinner appointment with someone he referred to as his boss, just to see someone he'd never laid his eyes on.

Her.

He went through a great pain looking for the coffee house that they agreed on that he went into the wrong spot and had to take Uber to come to her. He was dressed in a tweed suit and flat newspaper boy cap as if they were not in a scorching big American city. In contrast, she was dressed like a quintessential student: crisp white t-shirt, jeans and a black ballet flats plus The New Yorker tote bag for lifting up intelligent spirit.

They were of the same height; and later that night, after a quick peek at her ID, he found out that that she's a few months older than him. She knew from the moment they started talking that he was not the replacement for The Disappeared. She knew that it was no longer healthy to keep on remembering herself how The Disappeared made her feel during their first encounter; and yet she couldn't help it. She still hoped she did not have to find a replacement for The Disappeared... But the world rarely goes the way she wants it to be, and this time was no exception.

After a quick, chardonnay-filled Italian dinner and a comedy show, she finally felt beat. He had been a gentleman the whole day--at least in the 7 hours that they have spent together. She knew he was no The Disappeared. He's probably better--at this point, whatever she thought about The Disappeared was probably a romanticized version of what actually happened. She's biased. She felt pathetic for feeling biased for someone who has disappeared, but again, the world rarely goes the way she wants it to be, and this time was, of course, no exception.

He would have to drive four hours away but since he was not feeling well after all the drinks they had, she invited him to stop by her place. She was almost drunk, but then again so was he--almost. He said he'd get a hotel room or just sit on the couch, and they got a Lyft ride soon.

****

Later that evening, after a tough, grueling cramming towards the end of exams at the library all day, she went to a pharmacy. The same pharmacy that she just went to with him earlier this morning; during the last few minutes before the split seconds that changed her life forever. The same pharmacy where he looked at her as if she was Venus and he Adonis, and he said, "I'm gonna pick up something that I forgot to have last night."

She knew that moment was coming; she was just too naive to think she was too smart for it.

"Hey, you were here too this morning, right?" asked a lady behind the cashier, whom she remembers helped him picked up a new phone charger earlier. The lady also helped him during check out, and from her smile, she knew that this lady must have remembered what he bought. After all, it wasn't such a common purchase for a Wednesday at 7:30.

She just smiled. The lady looked at what she was buying: a soft lavender box with the words "Plan B" emblazoned on it. The lady smiled at her -- a much more kind and gentle smile this time -- and said:"You'll be fine, girl."