Officially a millennial
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| (Source: snapwiresnaps.tumblr.com. Image has been modified.) |
When I walk into the room, Nicki
Minaj’s “Boss Ass Bitch” plays in my head, except I replace “boss” with “broke”
and I try not to cry inside. I won’t even be a cat lady when I grow up, because
I can’t take care of any living thing lest they shrivel and crumple during
their first week in my care. So perchance “crotchety ol’ maid with ten dying
cactuses” is what’s written in the stars for me. Who am I kidding? I won’t be
looking at the stars, because all my castles in the air have plummeted into the
tar that is reality, and the only hope for me is a box of chocolate chip
cookies. But I won’t have cookies, now will I? For I am broke and can only
afford to stare at misery in the face, while simultaneously trying to find what
anime I should watch next.
(Source)
Millennials or
the Generation Y, which includes those who spent their childhood/teenage years
in the 90s (or was a baby then but still pretend they’re 90s kids by garnering
as many chokers as they possibly can, like me), isn’t merely defined by their
age bracket. They have very distinct characteristics—think the usual: lazy,
narcissistic, and entitled—as TIME magazine points out in their cover. Don’t
get me wrong: I’m nowhere near being crowned the selfie queen, not even a
selfie peasant; the most I take pictures of is my food, so much so that I am
now convinced my amateurishly cooked omurice is my muse, with me spouting “Pose
for me, darling. Be enticing and show me ‘feisty’.” Nevertheless, living a
somewhat NEET life, seemingly allergic to corporate 9-to-5 jobs, wanting a
meaningful career, despairing at the thought of no Internet, and yes, currently
living with my parents—I’m officially a millennial. And one of the features
that so far describe a millennial, or those at the end of its spectrum, is that
we’re young. Young, wild (as wild as napping like an Olympian is concerned),
and lost.
Akin to learning how to swim, most
of us are stuck between trying not to drown and fearlessly gliding against the
waves, that one rift between trying to find your way and easily walking down a
path blindfolded. Defend our age group as I might, perhaps we are a lost
generation, not because we are plain lazy and dependent, but because we’re
still budding, afraid, and moving in a world where what worked for previous
generations doesn’t quite cut it anymore. The world is fast and you need to
catch up quickly as well; and a degree, as explained in this one seminar I
attended, probably won’t be enough to compete for one job. Even adulting like a
boss is so laughably rare, finding nutritional yeast in the nearest grocery is
easier.
(Source: BOYSINBARRETTES.TUMBLR.COM)
Unfortunately, as many from the
older generations would like to remark and as I’ve observed dipping my toe in
the real world, our feelings and these sentiments most probably don’t matter
most of the time. We’re told we can’t always live the impossible dream, no
matter how many times that particular song plays on the radio; there are those
who have but not a lot of us can, they say. Consulting with experts *ahem, my
parents*, conversing with those older than me, and listening to Britney,
Rihanna, and Fifth Harmony, we just got to work, b-----s, until we die or maybe
before settling down. Or before we get bitten and marry a filthy rich vampire.
There it is again, choices, another matter millennials apparently have a
problem with.
As far as youth goes, we have enough time to make mistakes. It’s cliché to say we learn from experiences
and that we should get up whenever we’re pushed down to the ground. But
millennials are supposedly stubborn, so I’m guessing we got the latter down
pat. Yes, we’re optimistic like that.
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