I slightly broke my one-blog-a-day rule yesterday. I started but then my eyelids drooped and I was off to sleep, happily curled up like a snoozy kitten. That’s what happens when it’s 2am and you’ve had a joyous evening of friends, boobycake and handcuffs.
So below is what I wrote, plus the conclusion. And tonight shall come another blog! You lucky, lucky people!
How do you react to your birthday? I refuse to believe anyone passes this yearly reminder that one day we will all be dead- or 40, much the same thing- with a total lack of neuroses. Despite loving and enjoying my birthday as a great excuse to get all the people I love in the same room I do have the occasional bday-related wibble. The first is the deep dark terror that, maybe in all reality, no one actually likes me. And there I’ll be, sitting in a darkened room listening to something dirgy and depressing by Coldplay or Radiohead, in a shiny paper hat, blowing one of those noisemakers forlornly, alone alone ALONE because everyone’s forgotten I exist and those that remember don’t really care that much. It’s a similar feeling to the first day of school, when you were terrified you might have trodden in dog poo and for the next 14 years of your life no one would come near you because you’d be stinky smelly dog poo girl.
The other big birthday related fear is aging of course. The fear that time is running out to do all the things you want to. You can’t help but have a quick shoofti around and measure your achievements against your contemporaries. X has got a fabulous career; shouldn’t I have a fabulous career? Y is married with 2 kids, shouldn’t I be doing that? Z just bought a brand new (insert name of swanky car here as I don’t know one) and I can’t even drive! And why are all my friends named after letters?! Then you slump into depression, noting that your only achievements thus far have been once getting a dress for free because you turned up to a shop in your underwear and finally working out how to do your blusher so as to give the illusion of cheekbones.
And now we shall mention ‘The Big 3’. The Big 3 are the sorts of things X, Y and Z have. A Career. A Serious Relationship. A House/Flat That I Own. And much as I may kid myself that I’m 17 and so far too young for all these things, I’m not. I’m (GULP!) 29. And at 29 society says the Big Three are the things for folks to have. Sometimes only one, sometimes two, sometimes all three, the over-achieving bastards.
It may not have escaped your attention that I have none of these things. I have nipple tassels, a poor diet and a very messy room. I have a Hello Kitty make-up bag, an aversion to exercise and a collection of retro, pulp-fiction novel-cover style drinks coasters. And this makes me wonder, have I failed at the game of life? Should I cringe from the more grown-up and hide away in the garden shed when visitors come?
And usually I can’t help but worry, ‘does everyone think I’m a weirdo who’s too daft for a career, too bizarre for a relationship and too irresponsible to have a house of her own’ (yes, yes and YES!). Perhaps I should get just ONE of The Big Three? That might give me a safe cover story and keep the villagers from forming a torchlight procession to my (rented) flat.
But I reached the scary landmark of 29 yesterday without too much panic. See, I think I’ve settled upon a career direction. And although my love life is implausibly bad and my financial planning disastrous I’m pretty happy. The early twenties are for shaking it up but I think my late twenties (and coming to HK during that time) have let me settle comfortably in my skin. Not that there isn’t time for craziness and doubts and wrong turns and experiments. But I think I’m fairly content with who I am and where I am in life. None of this HK diversion was on the map (I was supposed to be going to Bangkok) but it’s all worked out beautifully. So if I am too daft/bizarre/irresponsible for then long may I continue to be so! And wherever I’m going and what I’ll be doing, well, that’s where I’ll end up, won’t I? And I’ll just have to concentrate on making it fabulous.
Yesterday I was: supping my favourite passion fruit cocktail, enjoying listening to the Rocky Horror Show soundtrack, generally having a lovely birthday so thank you to everyone who messaged/attended/ate boobycake.
So below is what I wrote, plus the conclusion. And tonight shall come another blog! You lucky, lucky people!
How do you react to your birthday? I refuse to believe anyone passes this yearly reminder that one day we will all be dead- or 40, much the same thing- with a total lack of neuroses. Despite loving and enjoying my birthday as a great excuse to get all the people I love in the same room I do have the occasional bday-related wibble. The first is the deep dark terror that, maybe in all reality, no one actually likes me. And there I’ll be, sitting in a darkened room listening to something dirgy and depressing by Coldplay or Radiohead, in a shiny paper hat, blowing one of those noisemakers forlornly, alone alone ALONE because everyone’s forgotten I exist and those that remember don’t really care that much. It’s a similar feeling to the first day of school, when you were terrified you might have trodden in dog poo and for the next 14 years of your life no one would come near you because you’d be stinky smelly dog poo girl.
The other big birthday related fear is aging of course. The fear that time is running out to do all the things you want to. You can’t help but have a quick shoofti around and measure your achievements against your contemporaries. X has got a fabulous career; shouldn’t I have a fabulous career? Y is married with 2 kids, shouldn’t I be doing that? Z just bought a brand new (insert name of swanky car here as I don’t know one) and I can’t even drive! And why are all my friends named after letters?! Then you slump into depression, noting that your only achievements thus far have been once getting a dress for free because you turned up to a shop in your underwear and finally working out how to do your blusher so as to give the illusion of cheekbones.
And now we shall mention ‘The Big 3’. The Big 3 are the sorts of things X, Y and Z have. A Career. A Serious Relationship. A House/Flat That I Own. And much as I may kid myself that I’m 17 and so far too young for all these things, I’m not. I’m (GULP!) 29. And at 29 society says the Big Three are the things for folks to have. Sometimes only one, sometimes two, sometimes all three, the over-achieving bastards.
It may not have escaped your attention that I have none of these things. I have nipple tassels, a poor diet and a very messy room. I have a Hello Kitty make-up bag, an aversion to exercise and a collection of retro, pulp-fiction novel-cover style drinks coasters. And this makes me wonder, have I failed at the game of life? Should I cringe from the more grown-up and hide away in the garden shed when visitors come?
And usually I can’t help but worry, ‘does everyone think I’m a weirdo who’s too daft for a career, too bizarre for a relationship and too irresponsible to have a house of her own’ (yes, yes and YES!). Perhaps I should get just ONE of The Big Three? That might give me a safe cover story and keep the villagers from forming a torchlight procession to my (rented) flat.
But I reached the scary landmark of 29 yesterday without too much panic. See, I think I’ve settled upon a career direction. And although my love life is implausibly bad and my financial planning disastrous I’m pretty happy. The early twenties are for shaking it up but I think my late twenties (and coming to HK during that time) have let me settle comfortably in my skin. Not that there isn’t time for craziness and doubts and wrong turns and experiments. But I think I’m fairly content with who I am and where I am in life. None of this HK diversion was on the map (I was supposed to be going to Bangkok) but it’s all worked out beautifully. So if I am too daft/bizarre/irresponsible for then long may I continue to be so! And wherever I’m going and what I’ll be doing, well, that’s where I’ll end up, won’t I? And I’ll just have to concentrate on making it fabulous.
Yesterday I was: supping my favourite passion fruit cocktail, enjoying listening to the Rocky Horror Show soundtrack, generally having a lovely birthday so thank you to everyone who messaged/attended/ate boobycake.
Special Girl. You Are. I remember the day you ran to Joy in your undies. Happy Birthday Sweetheart!
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