On Turning Twenty-Nine

Wow – twenty-nine, where do I start?

Since this is a kind of ending, perhaps….At the beginning.

A few years ago, on a particularly frustrating evening – I dove head first into a dialogue with myself (at the time, I treaded the fine line between “tortured angsty young adult”, and “polite hesitant dork” – my fingers shook, my feet ached – it was a whole thing). What had started out as an innocent diary entry at 22 (one meant to air my frustrations, whilst concealing everything else) – eventually morphed into a seven year conversation with the void.

It was an interesting time in my life – so many firsts; what was a girl to do?

I observed endless dualities, moving in sync like codependent twins: (good / bad ; kindness / hatred; obsessiveness / escapism; magic – and its steep cost….)

The experiences were absurd, violent, and brutal in some instances – calm, conscientious, and soothing in others; absurdism and existentialism both led me back home (to myself, and to you). Some may consider this movement cyclical – much like a carousel, and to those people I say:

“Let’s agree to disagree.”

Together, we differentiated what mattered – from that which was fool’s gold. Although, at times, painfully difficult – I held onto the courage of my convictions. Much like Shaggy, Velma, Fred, and Scoobs – I called bad guys, bad guys – instead of attempting to romanticize them – because wrong is wrong, no matter how well we may dress it up.

I have a lot to be grateful for, all of which is fuelled by you. Your love, your kindness, your generosity, your prayers, and your blessings – these are just some of the things that fill my frisky magical well to its brim. This note is for my loved ones (those who are still with me, those who took their leave long ago, and those who silently support me from the shadows).

You know, lately, I’ve been looping a childhood memory in my mind. This feels like the right time to share it with you:

It’s a bright sunny afternoon, and my grandfather stands behind my shoulder, whilst I’m deeply immersed in a computer game on my brand new PC (a PC which he had gifted me earlier, for my sixth birthday). Grandpa gently nudges my shoulder to capture my attention, and he points to the cigarette held loosely between his index finger and his thumb.

“Is it okay with you if I smoke this in here?” He asks, in a rather playful tone, while standing tall and proud in his signature attire: A pair of sharp white dress pants paired with a crisp, starched shirt to match.

My response is abrupt, and firm – I don’t yet have the ability to filter through my thoughts as an adult might:

“No, nana. Please take this outside, if you must.”

Flustered and embarrassed, my father (standing besides my grandfather), immediately asks me to course correct, and to watch my tone.

But my grandfather stops him mid sentence -

“She is absolutely right. Don’t interrupt her when she is right, right is right, and wrong is wrong.”

And that was that.

I’m often asked about the secret behind my decisiveness in my twenties – and my ability to make the right decisions (seemingly every single time).

To this question, I say: Firstly, let’s park our assumptions at the door, I am as capable of making decisions haphazardly as the rest of us are (and I often have); I’ve just mastered the art of dressing my mistakes up to the nines. Outside of that, though, life has whipped its fair share of impossible scenarios my way over the last seven years (picture: the trolley problem on every substance imaginable, whizzing through the space time continuum).

Here is my somewhat controversial take on impossibilities: We no longer live in an era dominated by black and white thinking, nuance surrounds every topic – notions of good and bad seem like child’s play in a world inundated with endless discourse, critical thinking, and limitless notions of ‘right’ and ‘wrong.’ When I feel overwhelmed by this world, I revert back to the simpler times in my life – memories which, for better or for worse, have attached themselves to my consciousness – and these memories light the way.

So we have some visibility – but visibility doesn’t fight the monsters for me – and there are plenty of monsters, no matter which way I turn; but the ability to see certainly lightens the burden, or at the very least – it provides the illusion of comfort – and maybe, this illusion is all that stands between chaos and cohesiveness.

If this doesn’t make sense to you yet – I hope that it eventually will.

My advice to you: Allow your storytelling to guide the way – these stories are all that we have – endless stories, endless narratives, constantly cascading over one another like lost sailors floating limply against the currents – tethered to a force far greater than any of us.

All of that’s to say:

Thank you so much for your incredible company during what have been….The wildest years of my life (so far….)

I can’t believe we made it through this together, albeit in multiple pieces. I hope you’ll continue to stand by me as I work to create something meaningful from the fragments. See you on the flip side.

Xo, M