I turned twenty years old on January 17, 2026.
I spent my twentieth birthday celebrating with friends. I threw a Daisy Jones & the Six themed party with my friend/roommate who turned twenty just three days after me.
At twenty, I’m in my second year of college, studying journalism at the University of Washington. I’m nearly 1,000 miles away from home. I live in a twenty-one story apartment building with three roommates who are some of my best friends. I work a front desk job at one of the campus department buildings.
My mom turned twenty years old on July 20, 1996.
She spent her twentieth birthday at Disneyland with her boyfriend who is now her husband– my dad.
At twenty, she was in her second year of community college, studying political science at El Camino College. She lived with her parents, sister and grandma in Long Beach. She worked at a Baskin-Robbins near campus.
My grandma turned twenty years old on April 16, 1975.
She spent her twentieth birthday pregnant with her first child.
At twenty, she was studying at the Philippine Women’s University. She had been married to a U.S. Navy sailor– my grandpa– for about nine months. She lived in Manila while he was out at sea.
I couldn’t feel any further away from starting a family or even meeting my future spouse. But my mom and grandma didn’t know everything at the time either. I stand by the sentiment that your twenties are for exploring: life, the world, yourself. Though our lives don't look the exact same, I think all three of us were/are exploring. I see it in the photos of us. I saw it in the way they talked. I know it for myself. We were/are just twenty.
Three different generations at twenty, reflecting their current state of the world. Three twenty-year-old women just figuring out who they are in that world.
