I am 27 today. Since my birthday falls at the end of the semester after everyone goes home, I hardly ever celebrate it. But even if I were to celebrate it, just what would I be celebrating?

Obstensibly, my 20s have been an unrelenting string of failures of unmet expectations. Just as the road to success zigs and zags, on the fall down, one catches glimmers of hope and leaves opportunities uncapitalized. It's hard to not let all the rejections from jobs, graduate schools, and girls get to you. People say, "it's not you, it's them," but then, is it everybody? Or some say, just be confident and optimistic, but surely, that confidence and optimism must have some basis in reality. I've mostly put all these rejections behind me, but I would be lying if I don't sometimes wake up in the middle of a night in a panic and reflect on these things.

If someone told my college or high school self, that this paradise was awaiting me in my 20s, I'm not sure if I would have kept on living. The promise of things getting better was often what kept me going. Now, I know that I sound like an entitled millenial, dare I say, a Bernie Sanders supporter (I donated \$5 to his campaign), griping, but this post ends in a happy note.

Despite the disappointment and the unfulfilled promise of something better, I actually find myself happier and more full of joy than I've ever been. While I'm not exactly the most social person, I have managed to cultivate a few strong friendships. Through their love and my family's, I've caught a glimpse of God's love, and that has been enough to sustain me. In light of recent tragedies, I've realized that these relationships are so much more meaningful than my desire for an interesting career and a beautiful marriage. And if this is what it has taken to come to this realization, I'm grateful to have suffered. And yes, I understand that calling my experiences suffering is a gross exaggeration to what real suffering is, but I hope that the reader can understand how one can become enveloped in his or her own thoughts and lose perspective.

Perhaps, some might say that this all just a euphemism for settling for less or an act of post hoc rationalization. Again, I would be lying if I don't acknowledge that at times, I still lapse into states of utter despair. I expect my 30s will be even more difficult, and that's okay if I never achieve that sense of worldly security that I desire. Knowing that I am loved, I can not only manage and scrape by but also find joy.

In any case, in the title picture, you can see some homemade oreos that I made a while back. They don't really have to do with anything that I just wrote. However, Michael Vo made them into my brother's initials. Without his and God's love, I just don't know where I would be now.