At the Precipice of 27
Dear reader, I don’t have an elaborate, well-thought-out, twisted love story for y’all to enjoy this time around. Just a bunch of scrambled, scattered thoughts in mind like when I tried to pick up Socratic Logic after reading a few poems in Time Is a Mother.
26 was a weird year.
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I entered the second half of my 20s with a new job that at the time, left me clueless as to why and how I got hired. I hadn’t taken an intro to economics class in college because I was busy learning how to do silk-screening while taking a mathematics and origami class to fulfill the science requirement (or a geology seminar about craters on Mars that I later ungraded). A couple business-related internships here and there might’ve polished up my professional resume real nice, but it didn’t mean that I knew a thing or two about…you guess it, municipal bonds?!?!?! A year later, I just finished the nerdiest thing ever called the Municipal Bond School and attended the National Federation of Municipal Analysts conference in Disney, a special taxing district that’s also rife with muni drama.
But what’s most unexpectedly refreshing about this job is that it’s offered me a brand new way of looking at the world. I used to wonder why many charter schools tend to close after only a few years of operation and that teachers get paid pennies — yeah, no shit when the school budget never plans for a bigger raise than 3% per year which can’t even keep up with inflation. Is looking at poorly standardized audited financial statements all day every day tedious and harmful for my declining post-lasik vision? Absolutely. Does it give me the actual behind the scenes how hospitals fuck up their balance sheets so they lay off hundreds of staff? Sadly yes. Will it make me less frustrated when riding the MTA and they close the stations for construction? Maybe, but just a little bit. Justice for people living off the L stops after Myrtle-Wyckoff, please.
You’re probably asking who the hell have I become, and I hear ya, I’m lost too hehe. Subject matter aside, this job was the very first time an American company expressed interest in hiring me permanently with the potential of long-term work visa sponsorship. It only took, lemme count, oh yes, NINE YEARS because I decided to pursue journalism and have not quit for a different career that would have been much more lucrative and immigration-friendly! This year was the first and also the last time I tried my luck with the H1B lottery and experienced first-hand the dehumanizing nature of the whole process. It’s such an irony for a system that was created to retain skilled workers just to be completely based on pure chances.
Some friends of mine have reassured me that this could be a blessing in disguise, that I have a better alternative path for me ahead, or that even if I got picked, I’d end up reaching for yet another seemingly unobtainable goal. It doesn’t negate the reality that I’m constantly anxious about my status, however, and I continue to dwell on why I’ve always been so set on securing a future in the U.S.
I’m no longer naive like the bright-eyed 18-year-old me thinking that if I studied hard, worked hard, paid taxes, actively contributed to society, I wouldn’t have to cry like a baby when a prestigious American magazine gave me a job then took it away because they ignored addressing my status and strung me along for a months-long recruitment. Or I wouldn’t have to spend months talking to potential law firms to justify my history and ambition to stay in this country and build a permanent future here.
But isn’t it how the human brain works? You yearn for what you have yet to possess, and neglect the fact that you’ve achieved so much along the way.
Earlier in June, I received a letter from my alma mater saying that I had paid my student loans in full. I will never forget the very last call I made to fucking collection telling them I’d like to make one final payment to cover the remaining balance. Five years of saving and saving and working all the jobs that I’m legally allowed to work, I paid off more than $27,000 in principal and interest myself without family support.
Being financially independent is liberating, but it’s also hilarious when you’re not abundantly wealthy yet so you try to cash in as much cash back as possible and get the most whimsical high off of maxing out the rewards. (My Discover buddy, you know who you are ;) It’s equally terrifying when I report on financial markets daily so I naturally become more knowledgeable about money things and those squiggly lines in the Wall Street Journal start to make sense, like what.
Being 26 once again taught me that I might not be as healthy as I think I am, and perhaps repeatedly opting for a high deductible health plan does not do me that much good. For the first time ever, I vomited clear, disgusting liquids after a night of drinking with colleagues (out of all people, sigh), in the office, then had to take a personal day to recover form the worst hangover of my life. I recently went for a skin screening, too, where the doctor saw a dark spot on my foot and she ended up cutting out a small cube out for biopsy (foot pic available upon request)— apparently you should have your skin checked annually, yikes. And I shall not go into detail about my newly-found allergies, which is precisely Austin, Texas, in February, because it’s triggering af.
To those whom I haven’t spoken to in awhile, I did this experiment solely for self-exploration in the spring where I moved to Austin for a month. I rented an Airbnb near Old West Campus so it’s walkable and I wouldn’t need to rent a car. I blended well with the UT students with my freshly-dyed orange hair that perfectly matched the Longhorns color. Despite popular belief that I chose Austin because of the proximity to a certain someone, I went there because I genuinely believed it was a wonderful city for a young person, and a rebellious oasis in the middle of the extremely problematic Lone Star state. As much as I’m a hopeless romantic and would do stupid things for love, I also value alone time and unforeseeable adventures. It’s worthless to explain that to people so I didn’t even bother if they bought it or not. I came back to New York with a cinema-worthy plot twist, but you’ll need to talk to me directly to learn what it is, and what it has become.
I turn 27 tomorrow and I’ve attended four weddings in the last eight months, good lord. Hearing my friends’ vows and speeches to their partners brings me to tears in the moment and sends me dreaming the next. Then as soon as I leave the wedding location, I return to my daily conversations with friends who have yet to find their person or who’ve parted ways with their partner.
It’s an honor and a bragging right when friends come to me for dating advice, given that I’ve failed at so many relationships. I truly enjoy hearing unique perspectives about how each and everyone of you approaches love and companionship. Being together for a decade doesn’t mean you’d arrive at the finish line together, as much as knowing someone for less than three months doesn’t mean they wouldn’t move across the country for you. Sometimes asking for exactly what you want will get you what you need. And not making up your mind is a response too.
Love makes you live in a time warp where a clock does not function in its regular pattern, nor does conventional logic. It’s one thing where I feel like you can make any exceptions or justifications for, and it will always turn into a good thing because eventually you’ll grow so much from your decisions and mistakes.
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Apologies for vomiting my muddled thoughts onto the page.
Twenty-six is when I don’t feel like every time I write a blog, it has to convey some deep meaning or tell an incredibly complex story. I just do it as catharsis, for myself first and foremost. I envy those who keep a journal and are able to carve out time for reflection because I’m not that adept at maintaining a good writing habit to keep my creative juices flowing.
So if you’ve made it here, thank you for reading. I’ve been considering starting a Substack where I’d send occasional blogs and diary-like life updates to my friends or really anyone who’s interested in what I have to say. I’m not sure how to begin and whether folks would sign up, though, so maybe I’ll save this project for when I don’t have to worry about ICE knocking on my door, heh.
