I turned 23 yesterday.

I'm not in my early 20’s now. I'm 20-something.

I always thought 20-somethings were old, and they had their shit figured out. Kinda like in Kuch Kuch Hota Hai. By this point, I was supposed to wear oversized GAP hoodies, judge women for their clothes or atleast drop out of Oxford.

20-somethings are supposed to quit their jobs to live in an apartment overlooking the sea on an unpaid internship's stipend. They're supposed to go for early morning runs in the rain while Aashayein plays in the background and have their email inbox full of 'We want to hire you' emails, (not the ones for Amazon delivery boys). They're supposed to check the prices of their stocks, first thing in the morning. They're supposed to jerk off to ticks in their to-do lists, last thing at night.

They're supposed to spend every ounce of their being into achieving dreams, productivity, personal development, and other words that motivational pages use to make you feel inadequate, and get you to follow them with the promise of resolving your self esteem issues.

Instead, I'm thinking about being unable to make any significant professional progress this year, the upcoming third wave of COVID, and No Way Home screwing up the golden chance of bringing Rakhi Sawant’s Spider-Woman into the multiverse.

Here's to another year of unticked to-do lists, where I'll promise to not make things about myself but inevitably will.