I Know What Adulthood Means

The pressure is real. You want to possess a good life. You had reasonable plans: Bagging the first degree at 22; securing the dream job at 23; having your own family at 25; and becoming a PhD holder before 30. But here you're, at 27, under your father's roof. Still stretching your hands for pocket money. Life happens. You'll be 30 and the first degree isn't yet bagged. Plans change. 

You're determined to achieve everything before 40. But the pressure is becoming unbearable. The urge to join the young money ritualists tiptoes into your skull. A 22-year-old boy lives in a decorated mansion and you sleep in a face-me-and-slap-you house. The boy uses the most expensive iPhone but you use Nokia torch. The boy shops for his girlfriend and friends and you're still single; no lady wants to befriend your poverty-stricken pocket. The pressure is weakening you. 

You're not a lazy lad but life paints you a slothful bastard. You're shy to ask from people but hunger is killing you slowly. Then you ask them for a token to feed your hungry stomach. They decline your request and when they see you, they still call you pale and pallid. You wonder what they've contributed to your life so far to give such an unpleasant compliment. But you smile as if nothing happens. You smile as if you deliberately choose a miserable life. You smile as if you know what tomorrow is pregnant of. You smile and move on with your pitiful life.