This year I am in my twenties, always wanting too many things: wanting to mature, wanting to be steady, wanting stability, wanting to have enough ability and money, wanting to travel to many places to broaden my horizons, wanting to handle situations comprehensively and appropriately, wanting to have the experience and composure that comes with being in my thirties.

Everyone says that your twenties are the golden years, but I only feel that this age is filled with confusion, setbacks, bewilderment, and self-doubt. Facing the multiple pressures of academics, work, and family, maintaining interpersonal relationships, and feeling lost about future planning, everyone is playing the role of a versatile adult. It feels like if I don't work hard, my life will really be completely ruined. In the end, it only leaves me more and more exhausted. The confusion of being in my early twenties feels like the growing pains of spring. There are too many ideals in a lifetime, and in the end, they all turn into a desire to just get a good night's sleep.

We are both brave and cowardly, with the courage to try everything new and the confidence to keep coming back after failure, but we also fear everything. My imagination is too beautiful, but society is too realistic. I hate the ways of the world and the unspoken rules, but I must constantly shed my naivety because society does not need a "good person," but rather a "social person" who conforms to social norms.

I yearn for freedom yet crave stability, repeating a cycle of self-pull every day, constantly denying and affirming myself, only hoping to become the ideal adult. Perhaps I want too much, or maybe I am too eager for success. So I can only keep telling myself to take it slow. But it's really hard, growing up isn't that easy.

Twenty is the rainy season of life. At just over twenty, I have experienced injuries, falls, tears, and growth. I want to hold onto everything, yet I can't grasp anything. People's reactions are always delayed; when I realize that the past is no longer with me, it has already drifted far away. I can only keep moving forward, yet I don't know where the end is. Perhaps dying with regrets is my final destination.