After having a family and kids, it feels like the past doesn’t make any sense anymore. Or I should say, the past exists, but it’s not the reference point anymore. My decisions, fears, even time itself start orienting around other people. So when I pause and reflect back, I wonder if that version of myself even existed. And if it did exist, why did it matter so much for things I wouldn’t even care about right now?
It feels very distant, or just flat. The funny thing is, the past doesn’t explain my present at all. It used to feel like a straight, linear line. But after having a family, it feels different. The life I had feels like something that happened to someone who had the same name.
Now I think my current life doesn’t rely on memory anymore. It is mostly future-oriented, and I think that makes me less of a memory-based identity. I feel like my identity now is more duty-based, or performative—I don’t know. It feels more like, what is the right thing I should be doing, versus how I used to feel back in the day: who did I know, what did I value, who was I. All these things mattered.
Somewhere in this, I think it’s confusing and also sad sometimes. But I think it is how it is. The sadness comes from the feeling that all those things seem unjustified or unreal now, even though it was a real life—it was there. It’s not that it was pointless or that I didn’t learn anything. It’s just that that life feels inaccessible right now.
Maybe I just outgrew it, like how a butterfly comes out of a caterpillar and might not even remember that it existed in a different form. Life is very strange.

