Happy birthday tooo meee! I’m turning 19 on Friday, which means I’m another year closer to being all fat, wrinked and dead. Ain’t it a reason to celebrate?
No, honestly. I used to hate birthdays, because they reminded me of my perishing youth. Not that I love it that much. I’d rather be middle-aged, if that means having life experience and all the confidence that comes with it, a stable job, and the right to say “you’ll grow up and see.” Nevertheless, I’ve always felt irrationally sorry for every year that passed.
My idol Susan Sontag once suggested (I can’t find the exact quote now. Help me, anyone?) that our fear of aging has something to do with the sense that we’re not living our current life the way we should, to the fullest. Maybe she’s right. Perhaps what I really worry about is wasting my youth by not being the 18-year-old I once imagined I’d be.
But then, so what? I’m happy with who I am, and I’m expecting to be even happier at 19. Or not, who cares. For now, I’m planning to celebrate my day of the year until I’m “fat” (from the delicious cake), wrinkled (of laughter)… And no, not dead yet. At least not literally.
Below, a beautiful song with a very positive message from Amanda Palmer…
…the totally awesome woman who also dissed the Daily Fail:
I’ll allow myself just a few more emo ramblings (as a gift to myself, let’s say), but then I promise to get back to fashion and trying to be funny. Especially since Fashion Weeks are coming and I’m dying of excitement.