This Generation

"Can I tell you a secret?"

     I inched my armchair closer to my friend, perplexed but pleasantly surprised at the sudden change of topic. A few moments prior, our conversation was composed of nothing in particular: the usual recap of requirements to be completed and maybe an anecdote or two about how we're so done with this school year. 

     Palo's 4 PM sun cast a soft glow through the dust-stained windows, illuminating the almost empty classroom in such a distinctly delicate way that, by looking around, one could easily tell dismissal time had welcomed itself in. Our glass board, the bearer of an exciting Biology 2 discussion a few hours ago, was splattered with frenzied two-character crosses and phenotypic ratios guided by the principle of Mendelian inheritance. I couldn't help but think about how, even at the most fundamental levels of anatomy, humans are predisposed to sharing things. 

     Giddy with anticipation at what this revelation might be, I flipped through a thousand possibilities in my head. An embarrassing memory. A first impression. Maybe a new crush. 

     Nope. 

     No secrets of the trivial sort. Instead, my friend spends the next hour and a half opening up about parts of them I've never had the chance to meet yet: their beautiful but complicated home life, the person they want to reinvent themself into in college, the dreams they wish to fulfill before the monotony of a career takes over, their plans of maybe falling in love and starting a family one day, and the kind of world they want to leave behind for everyone else. 

     In most instances, I would have given in to my introverted tendencies and plunged myself into awkward silence by this influx of highly personal information being shared without so much as a warning. However, something about my friend's approach in talking about such heartfelt matters, with both the intensity of a preacher and the nonchalance of a skater bro, turned my would-be discomfort into a profound appreciation for the kind of people I am surrounded with every day. 

     People don't give young people enough credit for being the way that they are. Despite the political unrest, economic instability, and fragmented ideals of the world they were born in, they make the best of what they've got while making sure that they are not complacent in the perpetuation of injustice. They’re unafraid to voice out their concerns, using the resources they have at their disposal to create informed opinions and demand accountability from those whose decisions have disproportionately impacted society. 

     They champion change and fight for equality because they understand what it means to be human in a time when we are constantly stripped of the right to be one. They are dreamers, advocates, and visionaries. They've taken a good look at the world and decided that, despite its brokenness, they can make it better.

     Not only that, but they've taken a good look at the world and decided that, despite its brokenness, it is still beautiful.

     From Studio Ghibli scores to Greta Gerwig movies to 20th-century poetry, it's hard not to meet a young person without a deep appreciation for the translated beauty of existing. It's inspiring how they find so much comfort in the experiences and realizations of other people, discovering who they are through identifying with mankind's different interpretations of life, love, loss, and everything in between. 

     I absolutely adore the impassioned (sometimes unhinged) conversations that stem from this collective appreciation for art— whether it’s a post-Movie World analysis of Across the Spiderverse, a breakdown of Taylor Swift's folklore, or an emotional explanation as to why they strongly identify with Harry Potter’s struggle to belong. Nothing compares to witnessing firsthand the depth of young people’s fascination with things that can be easy to dismiss as excessive. 

In turn, both the mundanity and vastness of the world become all the more significant, because, to them, everything is worth loving. 

Can I tell you a secret?

     More than bewilderment or discomfort, it was relief that washed over me when my friend confided in me that afternoon. For being part of a generation whose identity is shaped mostly by its loneliness, it’s funny how it had to take a conversation on a random Monday afternoon for me to acknowledge a grief I didn’t even know existed. In truth, I cannot talk about this generation’s fight for a better world or their inclination toward finding the beauty in it without acknowledging the sadness and longing that often necessitates them.

     In those two hours, my friend welcomed the sadness and longing in his life with unapologetic earnestness and a casualness that only comes with youth. The torment of existing is a tale as old as time, and yet, it is most tenderly conveyed by a 15-year-old who has yet to experience the perils of “real” life. Coming of age is messy and difficult, but what makes it worth it is the comfort of knowing that the hopes and fears that keep us up at night are just as real to somebody else.

     Perhaps the greatest irony of this generation is that we are never truly alone. Despite the pain that we like to call our own, our suffering is never extraordinary. But so is our joy. We will grow up and find ourselves someday, and by then, the world will start to make more sense. But while it still hasn’t, I’ll count on the few more moments a friend will ask if they can tell me a secret.