When I Grow Up
I used to think choosing the wrong course would feel dramatic.
Like a big fight at the dinner table. Like shouting. Like slamming doors and saying, âThis is my life.â
But it wasnât like that.
It was quieter.
It looked like nodding while my parents talked about âstability.â It looked like saying, âOkay po,â even when my chest felt tight. It looked like filling out enrollment forms with steady hands and an unsteady heart.
When I was younger, I had an answer ready whenever someone asked, âWhat do you want to be when you grow up?â
I didnât hesitate. I didnât overthink. I just knew.
Then growing up happened.
Practicality entered the conversation. Job security. Salary. âThink about your future.â âWe just want whatâs best for you.â
And I know they do.
Thatâs the hard part.
Theyâre not villains. Theyâre parents who struggled. Parents who donât want their child to suffer the way they did. Parents who measure love in safety.
So I chose the course they wanted.
Not because I hated my dream. Not because I didnât believe in myself. But because saying no felt heavier than saying yes.
When âWhen I Grow Upâ from Matilda the Musical became a trend on social media, I understood it immediately.
The song sounds playful. Hopeful. Innocent.
Children singing about the freedom of adulthood.
But on social media, the text changes the meaning.
âWhen I grow up, I will beâŠâ
And instead of showing the dream, you show the reality.
The course youâre taking. The path you didnât fully choose.
Itâs almost ironic.
We sang about growing up so we could finally decide for ourselves.
And yet here we are.
Still trying to be good sons. Good daughters. Good students.
Sometimes I sit in class and imagine an alternate version of me.
The one who picked differently. The one who wakes up excited instead of just responsible. The one who doesnât feel a quiet âwhat ifâ after every major exam.
But I still show up.
I still pass.
I still function.
And thatâs what makes it complicated.
Because itâs not a disaster.
Itâs just⊠not mine.
Thereâs no breakdown. No dramatic escape. Just a small, constant ache.
And sometimes, guilt.
Guilt for wanting something else. Guilt for thinking my dream matters as much as their sacrifices.
But wanting more for yourself is not disrespect.
It is honesty.
Maybe growing up isnât about instantly choosing your dream.
Maybe itâs about slowly finding the courage to admit it out loud.
I donât know yet if Iâll shift. I donât know if Iâll stay. I donât know how my story ends.
But I know this:
The child who once answered confidently when asked about the future is still inside me.
Still dreaming. Still hoping.
And maybe one day, when I grow up, not just in age, but in bravery,
Iâll choose for myself.
-Vic










