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Gen-Y
My whole world revolves around wondering and scratching my head- wondering whether I would actually succeed in 'the big world out there'. I see the crisis the world is heading towards and I get scared. Would my children be living in slums or getting more comfort than I have now? Would Iraq and the USA still be at war?
Questions, questions, questions. They fill my head like wine fills a barrel. Sometimes when I go to school with a bag as big as a rice sack, sometimes as heavy as one too, I stare at wonder at those primary school kids who are actually carrying a load heavier than mine; excluding the files and plastic bags containing who-knows-what. What is the world coming to? Where are all those dreams of carrying laptops to schools? Ok, maybe it is too high a cloud but I think I would prefer the times when our parents actually carried their own individual blackboards with multi-colored chalks. Ah, the good old days.
As the teacher drones in class I look around at the dusty and messily arranged desks. I love this place. This is the place where I made friends and had fond memories. From the immature boys and image-concerned girls. I actually wonder at those people who go to school with practically nothing except maybe a pencil box filled with approximately 5 common tools of writing; pencil, pen, eraser, ruler and the ever-trustworthy liquid paper to erase wrongly copied answers. Their homework is sent to the deepest dungeons to dwell among rejected knowledge. Sometimes I don't even know why they even bother to go to school.
I am taking my 'O'-levels this year. 'Good luck' the ignorant always say with a smirk upon their pretty little faces. I feel like replying; would that be 'having here' sincerity or I am forced to do this 'take-away'? I am sixteen. Next year I will be going into college. I can say that I am scared. Scared of 'the big world out there'. Would I be accepted as a good reliable colleague or would I be a rejected 'pariah'? Would my qualifications be enough for a good job? Scary stories about big, mean bosses terrify me. Would I be tortured by last minute piles of work? Would I be eating my lunch alone in a corner of a building with stray cats scratching my designer pants, mewing for some scraps?
Sixteen. An age for great dreams and longing to enter the adult world. A need to stop being called 'stereotype'. Yes, I have finally reached that age. About time. I am eager to enter the open doorway beckoning to me with a curled index finger. But am I ready to face with the howling wind and thunderstorms hiding on the other side of the door? Well, that is a risk I have to take. I am, after all, a sixteen-year-old with great ambitions and a need to prove to the world that we, the generation-Y(in Singapore my age group are called gen-y) are NOT dense. I am now out to show the world what I am made of. Article provided by 
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