In a few minutes, I will turn 24.
There’s something strange about how we attach meanings to the numbers according to our lives. From the age of 16 to 23, the months before my birthdays were always depressing because of my looming birthday. I got so caught up with the idea of who I was supposed to be at a certain age, that I couldn’t just celebrate that day or my life experience. Looking back now, it was so strange. And my expectations were so arbitrary: at the age of XX, I should be smarter, prettier, thinner, in a relationship etc. And the fact that I didn’t tick any of the boxes to those qualities was really upsetting.
Now, I just don’t care. This year’s birthday is the only time where I don’t anticipate it with dread. Hell, I just watched a video called “Unicorn Rainbow Poop Cookies“, how’s that for adulthood? I have outgrown that desire to reach idealistic society-sanctioned milestones. If it happens, it happens. It really doesn’t matter. People live their lives in various stages and some of you may reach that stage earlier than the rest. It doesn’t mean anything. Also, priorities: do you really care about those things or you feel that you’re supposed to care?
I know a lot of people are planners and that’s fine. You plan your life meticulously and I do admit that there are success stories behind the planning. But that’s not for me.
I’ve gone through a number of experiences that opened up my eyes to areas of life that I couldn’t possibly plan for. Maybe they’re not fantastic enough to be written on a card or to have a banquet dedicated to it but they are mine to keep and cherish. And I am looking forward to more of that. 🙂
Bring it on, 25!