So, I was walking around the British Museum staring at their Life & Death exhibit – you know, the one with the huge reel of medicines – for him and for her. At a point between ages 16 and 25, I stopped and just thought about death – about how I could just walk out to Tottenham Court and be hit by a London double decker, or take a airplane and crash somewhere into an ocean, or just develop a deadly illness… and die.
What will my legacy be? She came, she studied hard, she did well. She died?
On the other hand, I feel young – really young, naive and if you look at me long enough, I just look like I am a wide-eyed kid left loose into this world. However, I can say this on great authority that I am just as clueless and confused as I was when I was 15.
No, I lie, I am more confused than I was 10 years ago. The 15 year old me saw things in black and white – good and bad. She knew who she liked and who she could not stand. And if she couldn’t stand you, you knew it.
So, on the same philosophical ramble in the British Museum, I decided “The Twenties are the new Teens.”
The signs are many. I can’t handle teenage tantrums – they seem childish to me. I can’t handle “grown-up” cynicism – they hold a mocking mirror upto me saying I am turning into them. My mother married at 21, my sister at 22 and I? I don’t want to handle another person in my oh-so-comfortable life. I am definitely a spoilt albeit overworked little 25 year old teen!
PS: 200th post ever. That took a while