Friday, 1 July 2011

It’s my party....

I remember when I was younger how I used to relish the fact that I was getting older and that it was my birthday and I was going to get spoilt.
Nowadays, I am quietly praying that the day will pass by as slowly as possible so that I do not feel the oldness creeping up on me.

I think it hit me at 19 when I realised that it was all down-hill from now on. Gosh, doesn’t leave much hope for anyone else.

My Gran, being very wise, would no doubt tell me to get over myself and that I have a long way to go before I am considered old but
I just can’t help but ponder, as I stare intently at the faint lines around my eyes, have I made the best out of my 22nd year and will I make my 23rd year any better? Am I letting
Myself get old too quickly?

This past year has been a huge rollarcoaster ride. I graduated from University, with a 2:1 I might just add, I moved from England to Cape Town, I started a new job, I planned a wedding, I got married and I moved into a teeny tiny flat with my Hubby. I did a lot over the year and I'm not surprised that I found a grey hair the other day! Yikes.

But in all honesty, I think the reason for not wanting to get older is because I don't want the added responsibility of age. I want to keep being young and slightly immature and to make mistakes and be gently reprimanded by my Daddy or, as the case is now, by my Hubby. I wish to know that I still have a lot of time left before I have to start being sensible or before I can't dream anymore.

I want to know that I haven't missed any opportunities.

So as I blow out my candles, I'm going to just pray that I can make being 23 super freakin' awesome.

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