I miss the days when I looked way younger than I actually was. When I was 16, people thought I was 12. When I was 21, people mistook me for 17.
I started looking my age only when I turned 24, maybe 25. Liquor store cashiers stopped asking for my ID, and the people at Uni started shooting me weird glances for being the only grandma in a classroom-full of 18-year old infants.
Nowadays people can guess exactly how old I am. I finally look my age. I look old. I am old.
When my mom introduced me to one of her coworkers this weekend, the first thing her coworker said was, “Wow, your kids are old!”
Yep. I am old.
When I got back to my apartment after the visit to my parents’, the first thing I did was turn on the TV and look for something to watch. I ended up choosing the pilot episode of Girls, the first season of which I have already watched nearly a decade ago. Back then, I did not realize how young the cast was. They definitely looked way older to 20-year-old me. I am old.
I suppose there is nothing wrong with being old. I suppose I am not even that old.
I suppose I feel bad about being old because Current Me is not exactly what Younger Me envisioned her older self would be.
I suppose Current Me isn’t at all bad though. It could be better, sure, but it could also be worse.
Ten decisions shape your life, sings Julian Casablancas. You’ll be aware of five about.
Right now, on this warm summer night in July, as I lay in bed while listening to fireworks popping from distance — I can only think of three.