My little sister is turning 20 tomorrow. Being the nostalgic person I naturally am, the 20 just resonates within me, probably more than it does to her. When did this happen? It seems like not long ago at all, she was the bratty 14 year old teenager, and I was the one turning 20, getting further and further away from the teenage years, happy that my hormones were starting to stabilize, and that I would never have to re-live those years again! Twenty was a sob-fest year for me, none the less. “I felt old”, and looking in retrospect, I was not happy in my own skin, had unsteady living arrangements and was going through my hardest year of University that called for one-a-many all-nighters. As a matter of fact, after one of those all-nighters, I went to University to hand in my essay, sat and studied in the common area with my then university friend, and went to the washroom only to see dark circles and “wrinkles” underneath my eyes. I panicked. I left the study area, phoned my mom, and cried because I had “premature wrinkles”, I then went to the Clinique counter asking the lady for a product to reverse my premature wrinkles. I probably spoke so fast and sounded insane, as she stood and stared, and most likely judged. She then tried telling me those were expression lines and that I should not use wrinkle creams (which now make me feel better about it, but then just triggered anger). I was that kind of a 20 years old. Twenty was simply a continuation of my 18 and 19 year old self, with sudden new and self-imposed expectations out of life and what I do with it.
Twenty was simply a continuation of my 18 and 19 year old self, but yet something changed. I remember my birthday, my friends Liv, Lau and I went to a male-stripper club. The night ended in Liv and I hugging trees…I don’t even know why. I wore fake eyelashes, hair extensions, and probably too much bronzer, I don’t know why, probably to appear more bearable to myself, in the mirror that is. Twenty was the last year I would bleach the shit out of my hair and wish for it not to be so brittle, twenty was the last year I would drink an entire mickey of rum to myself as a pre-drinking method, it was however not the last year I would sneak flasks into bars. Twenty was the last year that an inappropriate comment from a stranger would have impact on me, twenty was the last year I cared about Johnny Depp, twenty was my prime-year for following bands on tour groupie behaviour, and that was a lot of fun. Twenty was the last year I updated my myspace.
Twenty was the first year I looked forward to working (with children) after and in-between classes, twenty was the year my grandma died, twenty was the year I drifted from agnosticism to atheism, twenty was the year I maintained superficial friendships for the sake of fun, and was it ever fun, twenty was the year that spending the New Years inside, dressing up, eating pizza, drinking cheap corner store sugary drinks was my idea of fun, twenty was the year that filming videos of random silly adventures became a habit, it was the year we took a pumpkin on a night out and later smashed it in front of a McDonalds, it was the year that throwing up and hugging toilet bowls were synonymous with a “great night”. It was the year of music festivals and road trips to the U.S.. Twenty was the year I decided to “live on my own” and did for a full summer, until I couldn’t afford it anymore! Twenty was the year I found my cat Cléo (who’s now with my parents). Twenty was the best of times, twenty was the worst of times, and I only wish the same to my little sister.