MAUL X HEARTLINE PUBLICATIONS

The Man Who Can’t Be Moved

A letter from someone who still misses being seventeen.

Courtesy of Maul

Like the lyrics from Ribs by Lorde, “it feels so scary, getting old.”

I am someone who’s terrified of growing older. Terrified of becoming a failure in the future. Terrified of losing against time. Terrified of the pressure that comes with becoming an adult.

And all of those fears have been haunting me for the past three years, during what people call a quarter-life crisis.

A month ago, I turned 23 and realized that I still hadn’t become who I thought I would be. I still hadn’t fulfilled the world’s expectations, nor had I reached the version of life I had imagined for myself by this age.

I know people would say that I’m still young, that I still have time to chase everything I want. But life also feels like a race that never pauses, a race where everyone keeps running while I’m still trying to figure out where to begin.

I still remember how life felt when I was younger. Back then, everything felt lighter. Better. Fun. And somehow, I truly believed that the world was within my reach.

But the older I get, the more life begins to reveal its real shape.

In the middle of an unstable economy and an uncertain future, I’ve been forced to learn many things. I learned about myself, about my ego, about my weaknesses, and about fears I never wanted to admit existed inside me.

Sometimes I still dream about being 17 again. Still living inside the warmest chapter of my life.

And maybe that’s the problem.

I stayed too long inside the memory of my own “prime time,” until I forgot how to move forward. I don’t want to become someone who survives only through nostalgia and imaginary happiness, but honestly, letting go of those memories feels impossible sometimes.

Being born into a middle-class family allowed me to experience privilege in certain ways. Life felt easier back then. If something broke, it could be replaced. If I wanted something, there was always a way to get it.

And without realizing it, that privilege made me weak.

It made me underestimate life. It made me feel too safe. It made me think comfort would last forever.

Until one day, life stopped giving me that comfort.

And when that happened, I almost lost my sanity. There were moments where I wanted to disappear completely, simply because I no longer had the “privilege” that once protected me from reality.

Growing up surrounded by friends who were far more privileged than me also left scars I rarely talk about. I often felt small.

A part of me kept whispering, “I should’ve had that too.”

But as I grow older, I’m slowly learning that not everything in this world is meant for us. Everyone has their own portion, their own path, their own timing. And even now, I’m still trying to accept that.

Talking about talent feels strange to me, because when I was younger, I loved almost everything. I loved singing, drawing, reading, and of course, cooking.

But somehow, growing older made me feel like I’m not truly good at anything.

I have potential, maybe. But it feels wasted.

Like I never stayed long enough to master something before fear, laziness, or doubt pulled me away from it.

Sometimes I wonder if I inherited my father’s habit of being lazy.

Well, only God knows.

I still remember how painful it was hearing people say, “He can’t do anything. He’s lazy. No wonder his life isn’t going anywhere.”

But honestly, for the past 23 years, I’ve always been serious about my life.

Who doesn’t want to succeed?

Who doesn’t want to make their parents proud?

Who doesn’t want to feel victorious after surviving this cruel world?

I want all of that too.

And until today, I’m still trying.

Still fighting for my own future, even though the world terrifies me sometimes. Because the world can be cruel to people who move too slowly.

Courtesy of Maul

Thankfully, in the middle of all these fears, I still have friends who continue walking beside me.

We grow together. We make mistakes together. We survive together.

And I’m grateful for them.

I’m grateful that I got the chance to know them, to contribute something to their lives, even if it was only through laughter during their worst days.

Quietly, I hope they achieve everything they’ve ever wished for.

Maybe this is just the anxiety of a 23-year-old trying to step into a new chapter of life. Someone who’s still trying to stay relevant in a country that keeps collapsing under corrupt leaders, oppression against marginalized people, and a system that keeps making life harder for ordinary citizens.

But at least, today, I’m still here.

Still alive. Still trying. Still believing that one day, the best version of myself will finally arrive and embrace all of these fears one by one.

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