Stop Asking Me What Comes Next
The opinions reflected in this OpEd are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of staff, faculty and students of The King's College.
I don’t know. That isn’t the acceptable response nowadays, but it’s the truth.
When you're in high school, everyone wants to know where you’ll end up the following year. Are you going to college, or taking a gap year, or are you going to stay in your hometown? It was easier back then to give any kind of answer. I knew where I’d end up: New York City. What did I plan on studying? That changed when I moved, but my answer was the truth — I’ll figure it out later, but maybe media?
Now, when I get asked what comes next, I cringe.
I haven’t thought about it, I say. But that’s not the truth. I’ve antagonized myself about the future.
I’ve spent six semesters studying and participating in my college community. I’ve been placed under a blanket of security because I know when my classes are and I know which ones come next in my neatly colored-coded advising sheet. My peers are the same from the day I stepped foot on campus. I want to allow myself to bask at this moment, but I’m yanked away every time. Why can’t I pretend that this moment will last forever? I want to take advantage of the familiarity of it all.
It’s not an invasion of privacy when someone asks, but why do I feel so vulnerable? It’s like someone is ripping away the blanket and exposing me to the cold when their curiosity is peaked. I live in a city of 8.4 million people. My field of interest is difficult. Then add on the fact that I am a woman of color and I feel less than enthusiastic about what tragically comes next.
I don’t know where I will end up. I’m comfortable with where I am, so why am I forced to come up with grand plans for the future? Why is it unacceptable to not know? Why am I given puppy dog eyes when I stutter in answering the question? Why is it shameful for me to ignore them and move on to a topic that doesn’t destroy my ego? I don’t know what company I’ll work for or what state I’ll end up in. I just don’t know.
I don’t think we’re meant to be, it’s okay, I’m okay, I say after every failed date where a friend finds themselves looking down at me with false sympathy.
If my academic life wasn’t enough, it gets more personal with conversations about my romantic relationships. My love life is not part of your discourse. When my heart is broken, why must I share the nitty-gritty details? I’m left feeling like the newest gossip that will travel around the world. I don’t receive sympathy, but instead, I’m left healing on my own, trying to keep my head above ground.
When it is not my main priority, why is it yours? I groan at the mention of dates that I don’t want to go on. I yell at the questions, poking, and prodding. Stop asking me who will come next. It’s strange when it’s forced on me to find someone. What am I supposed to focus on to please everyone and their insatiable need to know what is going on in my personal life?
Who knows, I guess we’ll just have to wait and see…
Don’t take this answer as disrespect or as me being hostile. I have two semesters and a lifetime ahead of me. There’s a fear that can be all-consuming when thinking about how much my life will change in just a year. I celebrate those who have it all figured out and the people who have the roadmap to their perfect destination with their significant other. For me, it’s different. I like the uncertainty. I’m not trying to be mysterious, I’m trying to be spontaneous.
So, please, stop asking me what comes next.
Amara Pierre is a junior at The King’s College studying Media, Culture and the Arts. She enjoys writing about the world around her, particularly the movies and TV shows she watches.