Getting older
On birthdays, gifts, and the slow work of becoming
Steam curled up from the hot pot in front of us, carrying the smell of broth, spice, meats, and vegetables that would linger on my clothes for an entire week afterwards. My friends crowded around the table, chopsticks darting in and out as someone asked if the pot was ready for more slices of meat. After the meal, they gave me lovely gifts, ranging from stickers of a plush I got from my FPOP to CharlieCards I could add to my collection of over 25 on my dorm room door. It was my birthday — my first one away from home — and I felt an unfamiliar mix of gratitude and distance.
For every year I get older, I feel like I’m supposed to have figured out more things compared to the year before. People talk about adolescence as if it’s the time when you get to decipher your future, even earning the title of the “most transformative years of your life.” But as I’m nearing the end of mine, I feel even more lost.
Perhaps coming to college, a supposed place of self-discovery, has caused this sense of loss. Back at my tiny high school of 170 people, I thought I had some sense of my identity. I was relatively fluent with the social climate there, every face familiar, each conversation flowing naturally. But when I arrived at MIT, I felt like I stepped outside this bubble and realized how small it really was. I know how to socialize with a very specific niche of people, but obviously, not everyone here falls under that niche. Small talk comes okay to me, but deeper friendships have been more elusive. Maybe nurturing a meaningful relationship takes a lot more time than I’m expecting. I tend to be quite impatient with myself; I have the expectation that I’m supposed to be able to click with anyone if I try hard enough, but I’m finding that this standard is unrealistic.
I feel like I used to be much more tolerant of others. In fact, I prided myself in being able to be around anyone, no matter how they treated me. Perhaps I could do so because the size of my high school was so small, which made it a lot easier to avoid conflict and confrontation. Coming here, however, I have a choice of the people I want to surround myself with. I’ve found that I don’t have to force myself to be around people who make me feel uncomfortable or unvalued.
But having the privilege of choice comes with its own challenges. This semester has been really difficult, because I’m no longer able to fall back on people the way I did in high school. First of all, most freshmen are getting their GIRs out of the way, but I’m not taking any this semester. A huge part of making friends is running into the same people and discussing psets, which I haven’t gotten to experience much. In addition, I rarely go to the dining halls. I’m in a cook-for-yourself dorm, so I got the smallest meal plan, which gives me 60 meals per semester. I usually go to the dining hall if I’m sure I’m meeting someone there, but it seems like most people go and randomly run into people. A ton of socializing happens there, and I feel like I’m missing out on that too. There’s a charm in sharing a meal with someone: it’s like sitting down to eat with family, where conversation flows easily, and you feel a sense of belonging that’s hard to find elsewhere. Over halfway through the semester, I’m finding that there isn’t as much time to host group events, so spontaneous ones are a lot more successful.
I’m also struggling with finding a stable group here. The Tetris pieces, each representing a community, are still falling, still swapping, still twisting. This feeling hit me a little during my birthday, which was a few weeks ago. I usually celebrate with my close friends and family, so it was a little strange not to be with them. Other people here seemed to be more excited about my birthday than myself, which was really sweet. To me, birthdays just mark another revolution around the sun. People say birthdays are “your day,” but I prefer to celebrate the people around me, because they’re the ones who got me here.
Addendum
Gift-giving is intriguing. We claim to give presents to show kindness and appreciation for the other person, but I wonder if it’s really for ourselves. Societal expectations say that we’re supposed to give someone else gifts on their birthday to make them feel special. Hence, when we ourselves participate in this exchange, we feel gratified when we follow this unsaid rule. In fact, it looks bad if you don’t give a gift, so the bar for the bare minimum is raised above inaction.
But if gift-giving is not required, then why is it an expectation?
One of my favorite quotes comes from Of Beetles and Angels: A Boy's Remarkable Journey from a Refugee Camp to Harvard by Selamawi Asgedom, and it goes, “The giver receives more than the receiver.” The gift itself is also not exactly for the other person. It’s your perception of them and what they would like. From the receiving end, it’s very interesting, because you can get a sense of how others perceive you through what they give you.
As I’m weaving through the maze of figuring out who I’m supposed to be, maybe the gifts I receive — and the ones I give — are small reflections of that process: tiny mirrors showing me how others see me and who I might become.