When Today’s The Day I Turn 23 — Existential Crises & Rediscovering The Significance Of Birthdays

It’s my first birthday since these writings began. Let’s reflect on 22, and the years before.

Twenty-Tree

I’m 23 years old now. This is my first birthday since I began writing here. Let’s commemorate surviving another year with an ever-so-slightly less serious writing.

(Mostly written in advance, but no one needs to know that.)

No central theme, but I’ve got a few ideas I need to jot down. I’ll make this a year-in-review too. Perhaps that’ll be the start of a recurring tradition every year.

Since this is the inaugural one, here’s first a reflection on what birthdays mean to me. It’s a topic I’ve been sitting on, and it matches the theme (obviously). Now’s the perfect time to utilize it.

Status Quo

Birthdays aren’t that significant to me anymore. Hate to start off a **~special day~** writing as a bummer, but that’s how I feel. Perhaps it’s because I’ve passed all the big milestones.

I became a teenager at 13. Eligible for a driver’s license at 16. A legal adult at 18, and could drink at 21 (but still haven’t). But there isn’t much special with age 23 and beyond. Perhaps year 25 might be neat?

That’s when the brain’s said to reach full maturity, and it’s exactly the value of a quarter.

Maybe I’ll finally stop being a dunce.

Birthdays never held much significance to me, even before adulthood. There were only lavish celebrations when I was an elementary schooler. Even then, I remember others’ parties more vividly than mine.

One of my best friends had a party then. I think we were in second grade, so that made her around 8 years old. Everyone took part in baking Madeline cookies.

There was a slight problem though. I don’t know whose fault it was, but the cookies weren’t made using sugar.

They were made using salt.

I hosted a birthday party in 1st grade (circa 2006). Well, my parents did — I didn’t have the capital to fund it, nor the event planning prowess. We (they) printed invitations on paper, with a light-green/white radial gradient and some generic streamers and balloons.

The fliers were handed out on the next class day. And my classmates got excited. Because the party was to be hosted at none other than Chuck-E-Cheese — the entertainment establishment that… filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy three years ago.

Growing up sucks.

A few leaped from their desks to inquire me about the details. The comedic timing was impeccable.

ENTER CLASSMATE 1

CLASSMATE 1: (excitedly) Is your birthday at Chuck-E-Cheese?!
JUSTIN: (deadpan) Yes.

~whoosh~
(SIMULTANEOUSLY-EXITS-RIGHT-AS-CLASSMATE-2-ENTERS-LEFT)

CLASSMATE 2: Is your birthday at Chuck-E-Cheese?!
JUSTIN: (deadpan) Yep.

At this point, our teacher warned she’d take the invitations away if everyone didn’t settle down. She wasn’t a mean teacher, but sometimes one has to assert their authority to restore order.

It was endearing how everyone was so excited about my party. Surely, the event would be a blast. So the eagerly awaited day arrived… and only two people showed up. One left midway.

Like, I suppose that’s better than no one coming. But it’s still disappointing as hell to be hyped up and let down like that. I don’t remember what we did there.

Guess I’ll just roll these tokens down this ramp game.

Even at my age, I’d love to irresponsibly blow $100 on a ton of tokens and just dump them all in a coin pusher. Playing all those rigged skilled games. And walking around with a stack of tickets 20 feet long when unfurled.

Enough to get a single Jolly Rancher.

I’m not aware of any adult-friendly arcade nearby though. But that’s the only birthday party I remember having. From then on, celebrations were limited to family dinners and the occasional takeout. And that’s enough for me.

Here’s another recollection. Despite being a significant milestone, my 18th birthday was uneventful. I had one of those family dinners on the Sunday before, so it wasn’t uncelebrated. But the actual date fell on a Wednesday.

I was two months into starting college, living in the dorms (so no family nearby). I didn’t have any friends either. And I had two back-to-back 90-minute classes that day.

It was business as usual.

Throughout discussions, I was having cheeky thoughts. It was like I knew a secret no one else knew. It’s rather humbling knowing others were unaware of the occasion.

To them, it was just another day.
Though it pretty much was for me too.

Time Perception

Time moves quickly now. The year between each birthday flies by, and the day itself passes in the blink of an eye. We may start celebrating every 5 years instead.

I’ve had some wild, perhaps stupid, realizations about my time on this planet. I was born in the year 2000 A.D., or C.E., or whatever it’s called. For my entire life, I thought I could just take the last two digits of the year to get my age.

This was the quirk this century’s turn provided. It was only a few years ago when I realized… that only applied for 2.5 months of the year. Like, I knew my age, but this fact still never dawned on me.

If anything, I’m closer to the 2001 group.

I also became aware that when I turn 23, for example, I’m not starting my 23rd year — I’m completing it. Which should’ve been obvious, but I overthink everything to wrong answers because my first thoughts can never be right.

So I’m actually beginning my 24th year today. And part of it is already over.

Turns out my perception of age has been off by a year too. Certainly a mindblowing revelation, not to mention existentially terrifying. It almost makes me feel even further behind.

And what better way to quell those feelings than reflecting on the past year and all I haven’t accomplished yet? Which I thought was 22 — but thinking about it, I guess I’ve just completed 23.

Whatever the hell that time is, I’m turning the clock back on it.

Category Of The Day

I’d say feeling lost is the theme for the past year. Hell, the feeling could describe the last decade of my life. But it’s especially applicable in the present.

Age 22 continued with another twelve months of hopelessness for the future, in many aspects. Hardly closer to a career, self-sufficiency, or meaning. Only a field of nothingness, and feeling utterly discarded and dehumanized.

Everything I’ve done felt worthless. Yet despite being stuck, the external pressures wouldn’t stop their imposition on me.

There are few feelings I’ve experienced worse than when you’re trapped, and forced to hear the same words repeated ad infinitum. Superficial advice and solutions to one’s problems.

As if I just haven’t tried.

My 23rd year (or 22, or something — gosh darn it) demonstrated the volatile threshold of mental stability. For the first time in almost a decade, the torment of my mind resulted in physical degradation and even self-harm.

It brought self-realization of the blurred line between sanity and insanity. How meaningless my emotions and the concept of normal is, not to mention how dangerous it can be.

Due to aforementioned factors and others, I’ve had to confront the possibility that I can end my life. Not that I will nor desire to, but seeing how close to the edge I’ve reached, it’s a risk I must take seriously.

It’s a notion I’ve never had to consider in 8+ years of inclement mental health.

Even my personal endeavors were lost in limbo. While I’ve found small footing here and there, progress has been glacial. It’s been a year of writer’s block, with the end of my project nowhere in sight.

I’ve written nearly 100,000 words through articles in 8 months this year. I’ve finished up my work with artists for most artwork. But I hadn’t progressed in fixing the main story of my game — which is what I wanted and needed to do.

Days passed. Then weeks. Months were over in the blink of an eye, with nary a word written. I considered August as the start of writer’s block — of last freakin’ year. It feels like yesterday. But 14 months have passed since then.

1.7 years after beginning, and 4 months away from my initial goal to complete the project, I’m hardly halfway done. And I’m not sure if it’ll be my best anyway. I’ve thought of better ideas and story concepts.

I need to finish this darned game first. I want to be done and move on to another project. But I also want the best result I’m capable of at this point. I suppose I’m learning through the process, but I’m so sick of being stuck.

Nothing else I did counts to me. Because this aspect was a failure. Too slow.

It’s terrifying how fast time slips away. When things go well, the time flying by is a mixed bag at best. But when conditions are inclement, like now, a year can go to waste so fast.

At this age, I’m understanding what people meant saying I grew up in an instant. Or how 5 years isn’t a long time. I suspect my life is already ending — accelerating down the hill, despite having “just started” at 20-something. Though if this is the start, I dread to see the decline.

Maybe 9 years old really is the midpoint of perceived life. Or perhaps that’s just a myth to scare the crap out of you. Regardless, the time is passing anyway.

Whatever has passed, still has occurred.

That’s the flipside to these rather depressing thoughts. Despite how I feel I’ve hardly done anything, age 23- I mean 22, oh for — the past year of being a conscious living being, was host to some progress as well.

Major event number 1. I began writing these personal pieces. As said before, I’ve got around 100,000 words written down since March. That number of words; ones I’m satisfied with, and in that amount of time, is remarkable to me. It doesn’t feel like I wrote that much.

It sucks that ability hasn’t translated to fiction (or perhaps screenwriting’s more accurate). I can write away for hours at a time here. Whereas with story writing, 30 minutes is the equivalent of torture, and only to produce a few sentences that’ll need rewriting when my idea changes anyway.

Reflective writing has acted as an emotional outlet and method of catharsis. It’s produced insight into the events of my life, documenting thoughts and freezing them in time. If nothing else, it’s given me another thing to fill my time with, even if I don’t see as much value in it.

At least I’ve done something.

The other major event — I became a volunteer software engineer for a non-profit in February. As corny as it sounds, doing so brought back a sense of purpose and meaning in my life.

I implement features and fixes for a site using machine learning to aid users in making image annotations used in actual research studies. That’s my grandiose way to describe it, at least. While I didn’t have a hand in the initial project, I’ve contributed and implemented many major features and fixes in nearly 9 months.

I’m three months away from the 1-year mark contributing to a “real world” project and role. Again, it feels like I started yesterday. But despite how short time felt, whatever happened still occurred, and here I am today.

A milestone once out of sight, is now suddenly upon me.

I learned a lot. But affirmation of my existing abilities was the most important takeaway. I internalized so much about how my degree was worthless, that I knew nothing and was useless.

Once I began volunteering in this role, my experiences with minor projects, hobbyist game development, and my college degree were indeed applicable. I used a lot of what I already knew.

Doing so was hardly as impossible as made out to be. Anything I didn’t know was often a search or question away. I wasn’t omniscient, but I was nowhere close to incapable nor too dumb.

Prior to this, everything I’d done in my life felt like a useless waste of time. But I finally found a place where I could contribute and feel appreciated.

I can understand. I can do it.

I’m not the best I’ll ever be. I never will be until I die. But this has provided a path forward when I felt blocked out and left to decay in this world. It hasn’t fixed everything, but it’s worth a lot.

To just be told I’ve done a good job, had a good idea, or be thanked for what I’ve worked on— it’s meant the world to me. That’s no exaggeration.

Unfortunately, having learned this about myself also perpetuates the feelings of being lost again. Yeah, darn. This reflection was taking a positive turn, and here I am ruining it.

If and when I finally find a paid role, for example, work becomes an obligation. 8 hours a day is required, and deadlines become stringent. With money in the equation comes expectations. Sacrifices will be required.

I know I have standards to meet, and perhaps my imposter syndrome is telling me I can’t do it when I can. But I’ve read many horror stories online. I fear how those expectations may be exploited.

Similar thoughts occur for most of my goals. Game development, writing. Endeavors I mightn’t be worthy of mentioning anymore seeing how little work I’ve done on them.

They’re not necessarily monetarily centric, but even overcoming my problems and succeeding still have a grim outlook for the future. Hence, I feel utterly lost.

Every path seems to end in misery.
Success garners little benefit if any.

None of that has happened yet, though. I won’t experience anything until it happens. Referring to that one quote, which I just discovered is by Mark Twain — “I’ve lived through some terrible things in my life, some of which actually happened.”

Throughout my life, I’ve agonized so much on events occurring in my mind. As hard as it is, I’m trying to worry about the outcome only after it arrives. Though it’s easier said than done.

The Year Ahead

The cheesy, rhyming tagline I used for my profile is “22 and through.” I think it sums up the mood for my first year (well, 7.5 months) of writing. I’ve reflected on the effects certain notions had on my life.

How I let myself be held down, how I lived in dread. How I felt forced to discard all that made me, and unleash the worst of myself. Age 22 saw these notions begin to dispel, as I believed more in the validity of my own experiences, and realized the insidious ideas ingrained within me in the past.

Hence, I was through. Done with this crap.

I’m not a born-again, confident person after that. I don’t radiate self-love and exude acceptance. Not even close. But I feel I’ve taken a few steps in a better direction for myself. I’ve made some progress in my search for a path forward.

There aren’t many fitting terms that rhyme with “23” anyway. “23 and free”? Corny as hell. Plus, while I’ve progressed, I’m still quite the opposite of free. So that word won’t work.

“23 and me”?
Hell no. That’s even worse than the other one.

Age 23 likely won’t be different than any other year I’ve lived. I won’t gain any superpowers or abilities. I’ll navigate my labyrinth of problems to the best of my ability. And just try to figure out the way forward, as I always have.

I’m still the same, tired person from 24 hours ago.

My 24th year will mainly progress through 2024 — save for the rest of this month, November, and December of this year. So I’ll just refer to my coming year as that.

I’m not one for superstition, but in Chinese culture (i.e. my upbringing, I guess), the number 4 (四), is bad luck since it sounds like “si,” 死 (death). The worst way to interpret it — I’ll literally die in 2024.

It doesn’t help that the last “4” year has a personally negative connotation as well.

2014 was when I started high school. Well, it’s when I thought I started high school, but I was actually in online school for my first semester, until 2015 when my family actually moved, and gosh darn it my brain’s so confused.

That aside, I associate 2014 with the start of my prolonged decline. On the other hand, the number “3” is soothing, since 2013 was the last time I was truly content. And I guess there’s the “rule of three” too.

Ignorance was bliss. I had less worries at 12–13 years old.
Most importantly, I had hope for the future.

Sadly, this “3” year will come to an end without matching the glory of its predecessor. I wrote that I figured a lot out and felt the best I had in years. I said that, but I realized the feeling’s only relative. It’s gone from a deathly void to a deathly void with slightly less mental agony.

But there’s still a long way to go.

I don’t know what the next year has to offer. 2024 is my zodiac year again, the Year Of The Dragon. I’ll have experienced three by then— 2000, 2012, and 2024. Also, if it hadn’t registered yet, it’s twelve years since 2012. Never has basic arithmetic been so terrifying.

There’s the last solar eclipse to pass my area until the 2040s. Though at a mere 46% totality, it won’t compare to this October’s eclipse. Another Summer Olympics and presidential election will also take place.

Other than that, the status quo’s looking to continue.

As I’ve said before, I’m not one to proclaim my destiny or predict the future. I want to finish my project next year. I want my mental state to improve. I want to get unstuck. But what I prophecize may not occur.

It’s likely that age 23 won’t be my year either. I doubt I’ll see a total breakthrough or success. But I don’t know what the future holds. I can only attempt to mold the path through what I can control. And whatever happens will happen.

I’ll have to see what this year brings.

As for the present day (at the time of publishing, at least), I’ll just relish in all the birthday rewards, special cutscenes, and whatnot in the games I’ve been playing. I’ll probably still do work as usual though.

I got a birthday coupon for a free dessert at Kura Sushi. I discovered the restaurant franchise through an online video, thought it was novel, and went to a local one with my family a few months ago. I’m going for my second visit. I think I’ll try more ramen this time.

I’ll enjoy this warm glow from my childhood for this one day. Back when there was excitement in the air. I thought I’d lost those emotions for good, but it’s reassuring I’m somewhat feeling it again.

Perhaps it’s returned, even if only for a moment.

Anticipation for what’s to come.
The feeling of a holiday —and to believe in something special.