SHE x 28: A word
Issue 006, check it out in its entirety here
*Disclaimer: This edition is a bold n’ blatant reminder that it is my birthday tomorrow and given that I didn't plan to spend it alone in my studio flat, I’d greatly appreciate overt acknowledgement on a day dedicated entirely to me… and I guess all the other people whose birthday falls on the 16th January. But mostly me.
Though I’m not sure of the official ‘cut off’ date for saying Happy New Year, I’d like to extend my well-wishes to you all for the new year. May it be every bit as insightful, exciting and (not as) isolating as the last.
My excitement for 2021 is due to the fact that I will have made it through my 27th year almost completely unscathed. Admittedly I had convinced myself and my friends that I'd become part of the 27 Club, I was utterly convinced. Overall, I'm always thankful to begin a new year because it means a completely fresh start and that anyone I dated in the year prior no longer has claims on me. Dobby is a free elf.
I've tweeted many a time that I don't believe we should condemn whole years based on a few bad occurrences and I wholeheartedly stand by that. This year, of course, began with an extended lockdown, harsher restrictions and whatever else Boris was bumbling on about, but that's not to say the whole year will be terrible. Perhaps it'll be crap topped with sugary icing, let's just wait it out, eh? With that I mean it is literally the 15th of January, the year is not yet in ruins. Let us at least enjoy my birthday before we hate on 2021. Agreed? Awesome, TenQ!
LETTER TO MY OLD ASS
I’m nearing the close of my twenties, a decade I was always told would play host to some the most exciting years of my life. Instead, each year thus far has been filled with panic, worry, laughs, mini triumphs, heartbreak and feeling like an utter failure despite working my ass off (most of the time).
Surely I’m not the only one who panics around their birthday? At 21, I vividly remember being so disappointed in myself for not having a boyfriend at that milestone. I’m not even certain as to why. What with my still being brokenhearted from my first real breakup two years prior and having no desire to be *with* a man. But even still I felt like it was something you were supposed to have on that particular birthday. At that time, 90% of my friends had partners and there I was, unable to make it past the talking stage without being utterly repulsed by men's idiosyncrasies. As Samantha Jones said in the first SATC movie, "if I met me now I wouldn’t know me," because to even type those words makes me sick to my stomach. By age 25, I'd convinced myself that perhaps this would be the year I finally get my shit together and while some good things came of my poignant halfway mark, it was absolutely the worst year of my life to date. The pressure to be something at 25 hit in ways I cannot even explain and robbed me of enjoying 25 for what it was supposed to be; one big crappy mess. When Gabrielle Union plays me in my biopic, I hope she emphasises how rock I hit at the bottom because 25 was the pits.
*Spoiler alert: if you're turning 25, literally nothing happens you're just almost 30.
As a result of putting such pressure on milestones that are supposed to "mean something" and being utterly disappointed after the fact, unlike Joris Bohnson I've since lessened restrictions. I now enjoy my birthdays for what they are. A day, or rather a week, to celebrate me in all my glory. I indulge in outfits that are likely too skimpy to wear in German weather conditions, take obscure photos where I feel like a 10 and convince myself that this age will be even somewhat better than the last.
28, comes with a slightly different variant of wants, needs and a brand spanking new failure to-do list. That's not to say I'm putting pressure on my impending age, it's just that I still have a way to go before becoming the Queen B of my own bi-coastal lifestyle and the endpoint is Instagramming my bestie in a Tessie.
Lest we list the things I'm still unable to do before I hit peak adulthood and I'm unable to cry to my mother for help.
For starters, I’m disappointed that I still don’t know how to braid my own hair well enough to walk the streets. I still do not drive, though I’ve stopped and started my lessons every year since I was 18 and I am so aware of how much money has been wasted in my attempts to start driving, the boredom of it, travelling intervals and then my moving abroad and using this as my excuse not to continue. Please, I know. I’m still only able to make large meals for one and worry that this will one day impact how I feed a family of my own. I do not yet own my own home, nor do I have a child, dog or hamster and all the other things I’m pestered about in my yearly family visits. So by our parents and grandparents standards, I am a failure. But a happy failure at the very least.
With new-age comes new life lessons, and I hope that this will be the year I finally get my life together enough that my content won't be solely a list of my misdemeanours written with humour attached. I would love it if much like Carrie Bradshaw, my own life was unfulfilling while the lives of my friends were filled with chapter-worthy content. But who am I kidding? I'll still be making terrible life decisions of which you'll each be along for the ride.
Staring down the barrel of my 30's I'm both terrified and excited about the next chapter. Admittedly I was very excited to turn 26 and 27, because I could still justify making silly decisions and prefacing it with 'whatever, we're still young', but something about 28 feels a little daunting and I guess, more official. I'll soon be expected to have a mini-me occupy my womb and sure they'd be cool to dress up or whatever, but I'm still figuring out how to get myself ready on time. I'm absolutely freaking myself out, as always, about now acting like more of an adult than I already do. Because paying rent, living alone and cooking for myself still doesn't feel *adult enough*. Nevertheless, I guess birthdays - post-celebration - kind of force you to think about what you want from life and for me, it's riches, millions and more riches.
I leave you with this nugget of wisdom. What having a January birthday means is that I have an entire year to learn the new age when someone asks how old I am. I’ve been given the veritable headstart I so desperately need. As with new years, I struggle to answer this question correctly and will be responding, ‘twenty-se- twenty-eight sorry’ until at least March.
HAPPY ALMOST BIRTHDAY TO ME! 🎈
I'M NOT A WRITER
An excerpt from my debut book, in a chapter entitled 'The Writer & the Crippling Bank Balance,' and arguably the rawest chapter written, detailing my ever terrible relationship with schmoney.
This month's #ThingsIDontMeme references Rachel from Friends. I'd like to think she felt exactly the same way when she turned... twenty... something.
With each passing year, I wonder if it'll be the moment in time where my glow-up halts, whether or not this'll be the age I finally acquire the breasts I was promised at 18 and or coming to the harsh realisation that I'm now too old to acquire a sugar daddy.
Having celebrated my birthday pre-pandemic last year, I, unfortunately, have to commit to this new age and keep it pushing.
*STOP THE WORLD FROM SPINNING ON ITS AXIS, I WOULD LIKE TO GET OFF HERE!*
To paraphrase Rihanna in her hit 'Birthday Cake,' and it's definitely my birthday! But no one wants to put their name on it...
Love, L x