By the time you read this I will be 28. I am quite looking forward to being 28, it seems like it is going to be a good year. After being told that “your school years are the best of your life” and “you early twenties are the best years of your life” I have discovered that getting older rocks. I am more sure of myself, more confident in my own resilience and I simultaneously give less fucks and better quality fucks. I have high expectations for 28.
It’s odd though, that at the time where I am feeling like I might have my shit together the world seems to be falling apart. In the country that I call home the economy is tanking, racism is palpable and culottes are back in fashion. I feel totally lost in this political climate, where no strong leaders seem to be popping up to take control. It’s like we are all in a dystopian movie about the fall of man – but it is terribly written and the author never got round to writing the hero. At this stage I would happily forget the knight in shining armour and settle for someone that is only a little evil. Instead we get to play the worst game of Duck Duck Goose with the next Prime Minister; Cruella de Ville, Lizard, Cunt.
Further afield things don’t seem to be going much better. That we have to have a #blacklivesmatter movement is horrific in itself, and lets not even mention that Tr*mp is a possibility. Since when did we all leave thought and kindness behind, and instead reach for instant judgement and clickbait? In a way I blame my own beloved social media, the lazy retweet makes it so much easier for poisonous voices to appear mainstream. And when politicians who grew up before the internet see ’20,000 retweets’ they panic, mistake it for actual agreement and make poor choices. Whereas my generation that grew up with the internet and was with it through the awkward MySpace years, know that a cat getting scared by a cucumber can get that many retweets in an hour. Retweets do not equal political accent, public opinion or even popularity.
To make right now even shittier public figures are dying faster than we can replenish them with reality TV shows, my generation will not never own property and it turns out that otters are little assholes (seriously, google it…otters are dicks).
My god I am glad that I am 28.
I am glad that I can switch off the feeds and not get sucked into a spiral of worry and fear. I am glad that I have seen enough awesome things in the world (read: peanut butter Oreos and a cat’s paw that looked like a tiny bear) to know that the good outweighs the bad. And I am glad that my weird combination of degrees (Politics, Psychology and Accounting) are finally paying off; I know that no matter how shitty the world looks like now in the UK it will work itself out. I don’t know how, but it will.
What we need to remember is to take care of each other. To put it very VERY bluntly, I am white and middle class – whatever happens in the UK in the next few years I will probably be fine. It’s time to check our privilege and help those for whom the political, economic and fucking racist climate will hurt in the next few years. What feels like an inconvenience for you, could be life and death for someone else.
Wow this is a random birthday post. But I guess right now it doesn’t feel like you can separate the individual from the country; until we get some certainty it is just a big bowl of gumbo. I’ve never had gumbo, is it good? Tweet me about gumbo.
So shall I tell you some good things? Like how for my birthday my parents got me a kid’s book and memory card game for ages 4 and up. Yes my parents are awesome and mad. I spent my birthday in Florence with them; teaching my dad how to take selfies, ditching tours groups like naughty school kids and of course eating all the pasta I could get my hands on. I really loved Florence, far more than I thought I would. Which is good news for you kids, I have a few blog posts planned all about my adventures.
Once I head back to London I have four more days causing trouble with my whanau before they head home. Then I get a couple of weeks chilling out and enjoying whatever summer London decides to throw at us, before my work travel ramps up again.
28 aye. I hope that it is full of friends. I hope that I tell people to fuck of frequently and with grace. I hope that I figure out how to control my hair, or at least enter in to peace talks with it. I hope that I get a flat by myself. I hope that I will be granted indefinite leave to remain in the UK – that is as long as the UK still exists. I hope that in a years’ time I will be writing a blog post about how excited I am to be turning 29.
Ok my plane is about to board so this rambling blog post will come to a close. What to end with…
If you are in your teens, it does get better.
If you are in your twenties, it does get better.
If you are in London, the sun will shine at some point.