Beyond the Neon Masks

A Retrospective of Youth

Looking back, I can't help but smirk at our youthful naivety. We were so impatient, so eager to break free from the cocoon of childhood that we failed to notice how beautiful that time was in itself. Each of us strived to be special, to stand out from the crowd, not realizing that this very aspiration made us painfully similar.

Boys, barely fledged, tried to attract girls' attention with ridiculous boasting and feigned maturity. And the girls? They already imagined themselves as femmes fatales, making eyes at older guys who seemed to embody maturity and experience. These "princes" in used cars flattered their vanity, not suspecting that they themselves were merely instruments in the hands of young maximalists desperate to feel grown-up.

I remember how we started our path into "adult" life. The first cigarettes – cheap "Bond" with its disgusting aftertaste – were smoked as if they were Cuban cigars at the very least. House parties and dacha gatherings turned into competitions: who could drink more, who could declare their independence from parents the loudest. I watched this circus with a mixture of contempt and sadness, realizing that I wasn't much different from them.

While my peers were getting drunk on cheap beer, I drowned my insecurities in the pages of Russian classics. They switched from one cigarette brand to another, while I moved from Dostoevsky to quantum physics. Their parties turned into drinking sessions, while I found solace in bicycle rides with my only friend, admiring sunsets and sunrises. But was I any better? No, just different. Just as lost, just as searching, only in my own way.

They say time heals. What a naive lie. Nothing passes without leaving a trace, nothing changes by itself. We all embarked on a journey of moral decay, and now it seems there's no way back. We lack the willpower to turn from the beaten path. And it's not even about morality as such, but about preserving humanity in a world that seems to have gone mad.

Yesterday's schoolgirls, who played at being adults, are now young mothers, lost in the flood of parental chats and forums. Former neighborhood troublemakers have scattered: some actually became criminals, some found themselves in the army, and some simply guard the very supermarket where we once stole chewing gum. Introverts and outsiders have locked themselves within four walls, finding solace in virtual worlds. And those like me? We chose the path of loners, working for ourselves, distrusting the system and people.

Sociopathy and conformism have become our new deities. We either wall ourselves off from the world or pretend to accept its rules. And those who are still trying to storm the bastions of adult life resemble children lost in the labyrinth of their own fantasies about what this "adulthood" should be.

I don't feel regret or acute nostalgia. I'm just stating a fact: returning to familiar places no longer brings the joy it once did. Either my hopes were too naive, or I myself have changed beyond recognition. Solitude became my choice – not ideal, but acceptable. Without trust there's no betrayal, without relationships there are no emotional wounds, without dependency there's no risk of losing oneself. It's the position of a bystander – you won't win, but you won't lose either.

Deep down, I'm still that child who doesn't want to grow up. I want to dream without regard for reality. I want to immerse myself in virtual worlds where everything is still possible. I want to speak my mind without fear of judgment or misunderstanding. Maybe this is true maturity – recognizing your desires and accepting yourself as you are, regardless of society's expectations.

We are all products of our time, our decisions, and circumstances. And perhaps the main lesson we can draw from this retrospective is the need to find balance between childhood dreams and adult responsibilities, between the desire for independence and the need for connection with others. After all, life isn't a finish line, but a winding path where we all learn, fall, and get up again.