What’s my age again?

Someone once wrote this birthday note to me: “You have the mind of a 25 year old writer, the body of a 17 year old prom queen and the attitude of a 20 year old model. So, as you see, age doesn’t say much about who we really are“. I was 22 back then.

So when tonight I got the plainly inconvenient question “Do you feel old at 25?”, before any speech came out of my head I just replied: “Sometimes, yeah. But there are good sides and bad sides. Some other times it’s a lot better than ever”.

The good sides:
– I’m learning about what I actually WANT to do with my life
– I got back in contact with old friends and met new meaningful people
– I succeeded to work the jobs I wanted and to build up something I believe in
– I realized that people are important, but so is solitude. I began to understand myself better and be kinder to my heart. I understood forgiveness is important and renewal is a virtue
– I am thinner than I ever was.

The bad sides:
– I started to grow wrinkles
– according to some stupid social standard combined with my need for security, love and affection, all ingrained in my brain with the wish for a wedding party and kids – I should start looking for a guy to start a family with
– I went through some serious shit and faced depression – which might have made me stronger, but none the less more cynical, bitchy and stranger with people in general.
– I get to make my own decisions which sometimes sucks so much.
– I don’t know any songs about 25 year old people. Maybe it’s ’cause Lily Allen totally ruined it with that “22” mindfuck hit.

But I try to keep up to the good sides. I feel that the more we do and the more people we get in contact with, we learn stuff, either good or bad, and in 90% cases I think the selection should be ours.

I used to be very scared and ashamed and easily hurt. I didn’t know a lot about how to deal with what life gave me. Sometimes I felt anger, depression, sometimes fury, sometimes abuse, sometimes just plain sadness. Until one day I decide to step out of that shit hole and do something for a change. Like …work again, like I used to, write, have fun with my friends, take care of this blog and stop thinking that I lived in someone else’ shadow.

MAYBE, sometimes, happiness is a choice we make. Age will scarcely give us the maturity or capacity to sort out the right decisions for our own good, so we do spend many many years in bad relationships, working unsatisfying jobs, putting up with other people’s crap or simply confused to death. However, I get this vibe – and you can all contradict me – that after 25, age has a weird insane way of accelerating itself so less time for fuck ups.

I guess age shouldn’t necessarily express who or what we become. So I come to wonder – when I hear everyone talking about this pressure – I mean, is it real? But I know – it’s just social. I bet tribes didn’t feel pressured. My friends however think we’re forever age conditioned regardless the social context. I guess that explains why I wanna live in an open field with my daughter and her father, plucking poppies in my Isabel Marant Etoile.

Photos: Hotel in Budapest/2010
Dress: H&M Concession Collection



  1. kittenhood

    I have 2 songs about being 21:

    1. Ladytron – seventeen (“they only like you when you’re 17, when you’re 21 you’re no fun”)
    2. Emiliana Torrini – Unemployed in Summertime (“only just turned 21”)

    I haven’t been 21 in 5 years.

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