Today, I turn 26. Unlike my past birthday celebrations, this year was pretty low-key. I wasn’t looking forward to this day at all. Remember when I said turning 25 was the worst thing ever? Well, I was wrong. Turning 26 is worse, and I foresee it getting worse as I grow older each year. Technically, this is the last year for a lot of things; the last year to participate in beauty pageants, the last year to get eurail pass discount for trains in UK/Europe…you get the gist.
A pageant chaperon once told me…after 25, everything goes downhill. And I mean, everything. Boobs included. Here are 10 things I can think of that sucks when you turn 26. These apply to me.
Like…when are you going to get a real job? When are you buying you own house? And the dreaded question…when are you getting married. Since I’m about to do the last two, the first one still applies to me. Many of my relatives think writing isn’t a good enough job. They may be right, because now that I’m older (and hopefully wiser), I’m starting to doubt my choice of career.
I hate this question, a lot. I’m at the age where people just chuck me into a group of 80’s babies. So my age varies between 21-30. When I’m lucky, people will think I’m younger than I actually am. Very few people actually think I’m older. But from now on, I reckon more people will start guessing my age above 25.
Oh hell yeah. I just spent a fortune on this galvanic spa that is said to diminish eye bags, wrinkles, fine lines and saggy skin. It does work…but who knows for how long? I even got a tube of cellulite cream because I spotted one on my ass (pardon the language). Every day, I inspect myself in the mirror from head to toe. I look for new varicose veins, potential orange peel skin, saggy skin, wrinkles, fine lines, eye bags, smile lines…the whole works.
Oh wait…let me rephrase that. It actually STOPS. Everyone says I’ve put on weight. Yes, I have. I’m no longer that skinny, bamboo pole I was at 21, 22 and 23. Please don’t compliment my curves. I don’t like them. I can’t wear most of my hot pants and I can’t fit into my micro-mini skirts. My hips decided to tell me it’s ready for child-bearing. It went from 33inches to 34inches. I can no longer eat junk food liberally and not worry about weight gain. Now, I eat (still quite a bit) but I eat at home more frequently. And mum decided I’m a bit chubby so I have to eat more green muck she calls ‘healthy shakes’.
Forget super tight low-rise bottoms. You will develop a muffin top and soon, your cupboard will be full of ‘Ah Sum’ pants. And please…don’t get colourful ones. I actually got rid of my mum’s pink hideous pants. Hate the colour.
As we grow older, we make new friends along the way. But often, these people will not be the friends who will stay on with you till later in life. Real friends will only want you to be happy and successful. These people will love you and your flaws…and expect nothing in return. How many of those friends do you have? Five? Well…lucky you. I’ve lost so many friends over the past 5 years. Some lost touch, some fell-out, some went abroad and some just don’t click anymore. Some friends I’ve decided were not worth keeping, so if you were a friend on my Facebook page and just found out you’re not, go figure.
I currently have a few good friends left, and the older I grow, the more I intend to keep these people. They’ve stayed by me through thick and thin, watched me change (some for the better, some for worse) and still love me.
They think you’re mum material. I recently went back to highschool to visit an old teacher and it just hit me: I’m twice the age of a Form 1 student. If that isn’t depressing enough, I had to find out I’m 2-3 years older than 1/3 of the new teachers at school. Who the hell becomes a teacher at age 22?!!
Ok. I’m being a negative prat here. But if you’re lucky, you’ll live until your 80’s. But based on my lack of love from lady luck, I might have just lived 1/3 of my life. So FML…I only have 2/3 of my life left to live. With hopefully no lethal mishaps along the way…
Bruised a knee? Sprained an ankle? Fractured your arm? Fell off the chair after a night out? You’re so going to feel it in the morning, trust me. I busted my knee wearing crazy high heels last year during Miss Universe Malaysia, and today, it has a numbing pain whenever I attempt to wear heels longer than 3 hours. Be grateful that things aren’t as bad as it will be when you’re 56, but if you don’t take care of yourself, no amount of painkiller is going to numb the pain in future.
I tried. And I failed. At 22, I could do it easily. But now, I can’t walk out of the house without my mum threatening to report me to the fashion police. Also, the older I grow, the more I start wanting to wear candy colours. And I happen to dislike pink, a lot. Now that I’m starting to like the colour, I’m too old to pull it off. W.T.F.
So yeah, these are ten things I hate about turning 26. I’m so not looking forward to 27, 28, 29 and the big 30.
Cutting my 26th birthday cake. I actually asked for 1 candle, but I have no idea why 2 big and 2 small candles showed up on my cake. Hopefully, it’s because the waiter decided I look that age. Okay fine…I’m dreaming.