Who decided that there was a time limit to everything? Who decided that there was an age limit to the things we could achieve in life?

At 15, you are expected to be done with secondary school. At 18, you should be in the university. And if, for some reason, you are not, then you are behind. You are lagging. You are not doing enough. Somehow, you have become a failure in a race you never agreed to run.

At 25, as a woman, you should be thinking about marriage, if you are not married already. At 30, as a man, you should have a stable job, a wife, and a roof of your own. And if you do not have these things by the expected age, people begin to look at you differently. The questions start coming. The comparisons begin. Suddenly, your life becomes a topic for discussion.

But who made these rules? Who sat down and decided that certain things must happen at certain ages? Who created this timetable, and why are we all expected to follow it?

I genuinely want to meet this person and ask a few questions.

Because, honestly, when did living become a race against time? When did we start measuring our lives by the things we have achieved at particular ages? And why does achieving something later than expected somehow make it less valuable?

If we are constantly watching the clock, trying to meet one deadline after another, are we actually living? Or are we simply preparing ourselves for the time when we can finally begin to live?

We rush through school because we do not want to be behind. We rush into careers because we need to be established. We rush into relationships because we are afraid of getting older without finding someone. We rush, and we rush, and we rush, as though life will penalise us for taking our time.

But does life even give us the time to put a time limit on life?

Life happens. Circumstances happen. Plans change. Some people get opportunities early; others have to wait. Some people know exactly what they want at 18, while others are still trying to understand themselves at 28. Some people get there on their first attempt, while others have to start over.

And somehow, we expect all these people to arrive at the same destination at the same time.

And at what point do we stop preparing for life and actually start living it? When do we allow ourselves to breathe, to make mistakes, to change our minds, to discover new things about ourselves, without constantly worrying that we are running out of time?

Who decided there was a deadline for everything?

I still want to meet that person.

I have a lot of questions.