No one ever warned me when I turned 18 that my dreams would make life difficult for me, and that I should have followed an easy, straightforward path doing what I hate in exchange for enough savings in the bank, fancy suits and good enough prospects for a mortgage when I turn 25.
No one ever warned me that by immersing myself in the culture of the city and country that I have come to call home that I would have the biggest reverse cultural shock when I return to my technical home, where I have the so called home advantage. The slangs that I didn't get, the popular press and opinion that I didn't agree and the way of life that prompted me to think, repeatedly: are you for real? Even the way they said my name made me cringe.
No one ever warned me that when I reach my mid-20s, my fear and disappointment when I realise that I am nowhere near where I thought I'd be can be so overwhelming. Where you thought you'd be may not necessarily be better, but at least there was hope, and goals, and faith that you'd get there, somewhere.
No one ever warned me, that despite having coming to terms with being a minority on so many levels and having figured things out things on my own, that wedding photos of people (who I'm only connected to on a social media level purely because we shared some kind of past that in all honesty would have dissipated had it not for Mark Zuckerberg) representing the kind of life that is not mine can still make cringe, and question where I am now.
Some people warned me about many things. I just didn't listen.
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