27 going on 28

I've decided that instead of turning 28 like all of my friends born in the year 1979 do, i'll be a spoiled brat and celebrate my 27th birthday, again, much to the protests of the angry mob that i used to call my friends. I'm sorry but i'm just not ready for the big TWO EIGHT yet, not mentally, not emotionally and above all, not physically. Identity crisis. I've been having it for as long as i've been conscious of my wretched existence. Year after year i make the same wish in futility before blowing out the candles on my too good to eat cake wondering when i'll see the light at the end of the tunnel. I know there are sadder things in life than not fitting into my size 27 Levi's or the wrinkles on my face that i've shamelessly mistaken for crease lines left by my cheap cotton pillow case or crying my eyes out listening to Feist's The Park or watching The Holiday for the 4th time this year just so i could still hang on to the teeniest tiniest of hopes that love does come a-knocking in miraculous ways.

Growing old isn't really that scary, if i say that a hundred times a day i might just convinced myself. I mean, one day you're a just a kid blasting loud music on your stereo with not a care in the world and the next you're all grown up and you worry about things like retirement funds and health care insurance and housing loans and the lot. On top of that, you are quite sure that your fats have decided to marry your waist and have hence obtained legal permanent residence through naturalisation and your hair seems to have lost its lustre and you seem to have develop a disgusting penchant for bitter melon and other greens. And you've given up loud music that sends your heart pumping for sad old bastard tunes and bright colours for safer ones. You wonder where you're going in your career, that is, if you do have one at all. One minute you feel that everything in your life is going okay, the next you're an emotional wreck and you go mental trying to figure out how life works between the two extremes. And how pathetic is it to spend most of your adult Christmases and birthdays and New Year's eves watching cheesy, blah movies all the time feeling lousy, lonely and totally alone? Maybe it isnt growing old that scares me per se, it's growing old alone, mateless.

Nevertheless, i'm grateful to friends, family and ex-boyfriend who did send their well wishes despite their busy schedules, most even made it to dinner and on time too. :) Maybe growing old really isnt that scary because you're never really alone.