adulthood
I have tagged 2 blog posts with adulthood:
Chasing Maturity: A Train Journey Through the Landscape of Growing Up
As I sit here on this cold, dreary Norwegian morning, the train humming beneath me, I find myself sinking into thoughts of growing up. The temperature outside is a chilling 13 degrees. Sure, it's not freezing, but its bite has a way of permeating through you, seeping into the marrow of your bones, an echo of winter's bite. From my small, foggy window, the world goes by in greyscale - ribbons of iron and stone cutting through the raw, open landscape.
Growing up, in essence, is an ambition aspirated by every young soul before it even understands its full implications. We hastily strive to reach a point of self-governing independence, of wisdom, of understanding. We yearn to leave behind the naïve simplicity of youth and grasp the complexities of maturity. Almost as though in a trade-off, we relinquish the soft pillow of innocence for the sturdier mattress of awareness.
Take, for instance, the swivel of affairs in far-off Dagestan. After reading a somber news article on NRK during my early morning browsing, I was served a daunting reality check. It spoke of vile attacks on innocent lives, a stark portrayal of the world beyond my tiny, meticulously curated existence. As a journalism student, it's disturbing and emotional to read such articles. Lives lost...lives changed forever. It is a moment of profound sorrow, yet it serves as a powerful reminder of the breadth of human struggle.
The infractions of such acts stir whirlwind emotions, yet their existence is integral to our understanding and evolution into resilient beings. This part of growing up, the acceptance of harsh reality, is unpleasant, yet it lends the greatest life lessons. The essence of our bloom from children into adults is not only marked by physical growth but also by the deepening creases of understanding, imprinted by the pressing iron of reality.
Growing up also means adapting to life's shifting gears. An aid to my adaptation process, and notable mention in these transient reflections, is my ever-faithful powerbank. This reliable companion has been a silent supporter during those long train rides to Oslo, ensuring my phone, my music, my solace, never shuts off. More than just a simple device, it’s a metaphor for resilience, a token of constancy in a world always on the move, just as we are while growing up.
Growing up, then, is like this train journey – a transition, an evolution, and sometimes, a tug of war between the past and the future. All the while, we move on, leaving behind a trace of what we were, but carrying with us the core of who we are. Even in the face of harsh winds of reality, our wheels do not stop. They merely adjust to the different rails that life lays in front of us, leading us into the uncharted territories of adulthood.
But today, the melancholy is too poignant to ignore. As I sit here on my train towards the bustling city of Oslo, it is unavoidably apparent that the passage from childhood to adulthood can often feel like less of a graduation, and more of a mourning. A mourning for the loss of innocence and the gain of awareness - a bittersweet trade indeed.
As mournful as this train ride may be, my mind now is filled with the gratitude of growth. For though it comes with harsh winds, it also brings resilience, understanding, and wisdom. And as I gaze out the window to that weather-beaten landscape racing by, I realize this train ride, like my journey towards adulthood, is a beautiful one. And it's all worth it.
An Unexpected Journey: Unpacking the Reality of My First Rental Home
The sun is low, the sky a murky grey, painting the Oslofjord as if washed in a pool of melancholy. Outside, the temperature hovers at a crisp 14°C, a perfect mirror of my mood - not too warm to be content, not cold enough to numb. The train shudders rhythmically beneath me as I make my journey home from the city, tickling my senses like a melancholic heartbeat.
A dull buzz hums through the carriage, murmurs of conversations muffled by the distance of my own thoughts. My fingertips dance against the cool metal of my laptop, a silent symphony unwinding itself into words. Tunes, barging like uninvited intruders, break the monotonous hum now and then.
Today, I look back on my hasty leap into independence. That first uphill battle of navigating through the complex world of rentals. A teenager, fresh out of the nest, navigating the unnerving maze of adulthood masked as a humble apartment. The mandatory deposits, the rules and clauses buried in contracts thick enough to work as doorstops. And yet, I thought I was ready for it all.
But reality was far from the illusion. No one told me of the sombre loneliness that echoed through empty rooms or the heavy silence that bore into you in the late hours of the night. The walls, as oppressive as they were confining, were cold, unfamiliar and alien. They bore no imprints of life, no memories, nothing to tether me.
I remember the aimless wandering, trying to mold an alien space into something warm and inviting. The realization that a home is more than just four walls, it's a feeling, a sense of belonging that takes time, effort, and patience. I remember the unbearable sadness of returning to an empty home, echoing with silence, pregnant with solitude.
The promptness of the news shadowed my gloomy thoughts. I had just finished reading about the situation in Israel. A global pandemic. Norwegians extradited. An aspect of reality I hadn’t even considered infiltrating my musings as I have seen my countrymen boarding a flight back home, leaving their lives, their homes behind.
For them, no home to return to could ever compensate for the comfort of their own homes in a foreign land, embraced by the paradox of familiarity amid strangeness. If it was heart-wrenching for me to confront the solitude in the corners of an unfamiliar room, how devastating would it be to be forced to abandon the concept of home altogether?
The train is pulling into my hometown station, indifferent to the emotional reverie it disrupts. The bracing cold air hits me as I step onto the platform, a reality check after the warmth within the train. The youth who moved to Oslo with ambitions, dreams, and fears has returned home with a newfound appreciation for this sacred space we call home. Home, the mere sound of the word echoing within me.
Expected to be about concrete roofs and locked doors, the first-time rental experience has taught me otherwise. Now I see that the home is not about the space you are given but about the emotions, the memories, the warmth, the familiarity that you embed into it.
More than just a rented space, it's a journey one embarks, the winding road of adulthood. And as the universe unravels the realities of home, moving, and pandemics, I understand. My first home away from home wasn't just a rental apartment. It was reality. My reality. For we all are, after all, just wandering in the labyrinth of life, in search of a place to call home.