There are some essential elements to coming-of-age movies: a monologue from the main character about growing up, a big house party with drunken confessions, a late night road trip blaring “Ribs” by Lorde or “Tongue Tied” by Grouplove. Cliché as it is, I often find myself immersed in the unbridled vibrance of youth. I picture doing what the characters are doing and fantasise about going on their wild adventures. My favourite coming-of-age movies are The Perks of Being a Wallflower, Booksmart, and Lady Bird. While these films all tackle different aspects of growing up, facing challenges, and overcoming obstacles, they are all united in the fact that they take place in high school. Charlie is a freshman who starts coming out of his shell as he makes new friends; Amy and Molly are best friends who go to a party for the first time on the night before their graduation; and Lady Bird navigates college applications alongside her tumultuous relationship with her mom. All of these films, while focused on different conflicts and experiences, showcase their characters’ struggle to live on their own terms as they navigate their relationships. Being an active participant in your life is emphasised a lot in coming-of-age movies: you cannot grow by sitting on the sidelines. The only way to mature—be an adult—is to engage with life.
Reminiscing on my high school experience, I fail to see myself reflected in the coming-of-age milestones portrayed in the films and books I eagerly consumed. This is not to say that I did not have fun experiences in high school: I went to a handful of house parties, went to prom, and was in a relationship. However, while these “milestones” were fun to experience, I otherwise didn’t live my life quite the way I wanted to. My high school was small, with no more than 120 students per grade. I was in a high-pressure environment where everyone around me was incredibly smart, and, while competition wasn’t explicitly voiced, there definitely was a need to be as competent and intelligent as the rest of my peers. In the summer after eighth grade, I began to go see a tutor weekly after my mom voiced her concern that I would fall behind without the preparation and training in place for next year. Nonstop for the next four years, I would spend my weekends with tutors and stay up into the morning working through problem sets in addition to completing the homework I got from school. It became a balancing game for me. I started to think along the lines of, “If I complete this stack of linear algebra worksheets from my tutor before studying for my geography test tomorrow, I’ll be able to sleep at 1 am today instead of 2 am.” I began to measure my time by my workload, and sacrificed sleep and time with friends to do so. Summer became synonymous with study. I moved like a machine. I turned on, completed my programmed tasks, and switched off for the night to do it all over again; clogging through the motions of a life I was expected to live.
I lived under a state of chronic stress for years, from classes I was not interested in, work I did not like to do, and grades that I had set incredibly high standards for myself to earn. Phone in one hand and calculator in the other, I would scroll through my Instagram feed and double tap enviously on posts of friends who were going on trips, staying out, and hanging out with each other. I so desperately wanted to be able to spend the whole day outside with no responsibilities and commitments. I eventually graduated high school in 2019 having gone through the motions of doing what I thought was expected of me. Only now do I look back and think about how I was shaping my future for a life that was not meant for me.
As an immigrant, I find the principle of “living your life as you want to” rather complicated. My parents immigrated to Canada from South Korea when I was a baby in hopes of securing a better future. They thought not only of their future, but mine as well. In my case—and I definitely can’t speak for the experiences of all immigrant children—an ideal future takes place in the shape of a stable, well-respected, high-paying career. There is a lot riding on what you do for a living because immigrants tend to not have a reliable safety net of financial or social capital, so the expectation is to walk the conventional path to success. You owe your parents a “good job” so their sacrifice has not gone to waste. I feel the moral duty and responsibility to have my future look a very specific way because they have given up so much for me to have a better life. But, what does that better life mean? So much of my time was spent working for my future, which is not a bad thing at all; it was just not for a future I wanted for myself.
When I watch coming-of-age movies, I rarely feel represented on-screen. As much as the stories are about growth and change, they leave much of life behind. Characters seemingly have an infinite amount of time to explore their hometown, go to concerts, hit the beach, and then do homework. They never talk about real life responsibilities such as work, and have no long-term consequences for their actions. Parents never talk to them about graduate school or the need to constantly be working to feel successful. These films present an idealised vision of adolescence, and yet, knowing this, I still feel as though I’m missing out on things I should be experiencing. I am left with a sense of nostalgia for a youth I did not experience. Watching a coming-of-age movie immerses me into the characters’ lives and allows me to empathise with their situations, but the films also leave me feeling unfulfilled with my own.
I first set foot on the grounds of Victoria College on a chilly September morning, feeling entirely out of my element. I had known that university would be a completely different environment from high school, but seeing the campus in-person completely took me aback. There were so many other students coming and going and I distinctly remember feeling like I did not know where to go from here; I was plucked from my familiar path and placed onto a new one that had never before been tread. It was terrifying knowing that I had choices and options that were not available to me before because I was so accustomed to familiarity with what I was expected to do. However, I remember one distinct moment from orientation: the first-years parading around the city near campus, shouting Vic cheers while donning red and yellow paint. Cars honked their horns in excitement and passengers gazed on in curiosity. Being among hundreds of other first-years in our red orientation shirts made me feel like I was just a number at university, which felt strangely comforting. It slowly dawned on me that I could do whatever I wanted—and that no one would care. No one would care about the extracurriculars I was doing, or how many hours I spent studying, or whether or not I participated in any competitions. I felt liberated in the fresh start that I was given during orientation. Being at university meant that I was distanced from previous environmental pressures and was brought closer to opportunities that I had not realised I could take. I enrolled in courses I had never heard of before, performed at my residence house talent shows, volunteered as a barista at Caffiends, and even tried my hand at student politics. In first-year, I made so many decisions—both good and bad—and I made them for myself.
My own coming of age story only started the moment I entered university and participated in orientation. Unlike Charlie, Amy, Molly, and Lady Bird, high school was nowhere near the point in my life where I started to grow up. Independence and freedom seemed like impossible concepts that I would never experience firsthand. Now, I know that I have grown the most as an individual during university by finally making decisions for myself and for my future. Orientation was an entirely new chapter of life for me, and I could not have predicted that a single week in September would impact my life so significantly. As I enter my fourth year I have come to realise that I cannot control the things that happen to me, but I can control my awareness of them. I can let time pass by me, safely and quietly, without letting it affect me or letting myself affect things. I can also make the choice to be an active participant in my own life. Doing so is scary, hard, and embarrassing because it opens me up to making mistakes, hurting people, and being hurt in return. I now try to exist with awareness, be honest with my emotions, and to do things I want to do for myself. I try to admit when I am wrong and then try to do better in the future. My coming-of-age in university has been the most eventful, emotional, and incredible experience of my life—nothing feels quite as good as being the main character in your own movie.
