Six months or so into my birthday, my mom has basically announced me a year older than the age I’m supposed to be. Imagine. It happens every single year. I keep telling her to address my age correctly though unsurprisingly she never actually listens. Maybe this has to do with the fact that I was born in early February that my mom always takes the liberty to declare me a year older later in the exact same year.
It was honestly a little hard to remember that I was 22 when my mom kept telling me about how I was supposed to mature now that I was ‘twenty-three’. When I was filling a survey for an undergraduate research about two months ago, I even wrote 23 in the age section unconsciously and had only realized my mistake a few minutes before I almost hit the submit button. I feel like I’ve been 23 for a few months hence today only marks the day when the official celebration ought to happen.
Based on the previous ritual, I most likely have this six-month interval before my mom pronounces me 24 (which is very near to 25) so I still have quite some time before actually freaking out. A question that has been uninvitedly popping up in my head for quite some time is as clear as the day today: am I a woman yet? Is there any standard to magically measure whether I can be considered mature? I may aspire to be a truly independent woman with a job that meets my requirement which I'm happy to do, but deep down I know I'm still a kid at heart.
Honestly, I don't plan to make a big deal out of my turning 23 this year. As a matter of fact, you will witness firsthand how ordinary my itinerary is: spending my day at work because sadly there's no such rule that requires an uninterrupted day off for a birthday girl and then I plan to eat as much cake as my belly could comprehend. Nothing special but frankly this is exactly what I feel like doing. In other words, my dictionary states that being 23 means you're young enough to still be enthusiastic about your birthday but not immature enough to possess the ability to be careless about your future (hence not skipping a day at work despite wanting to).
Furthermore, it feels nice to detach myself from the thought of who does remember and who does not like I shamefully used to do back in the old days. But well, it's also my duty to point out that I'm not even the same person I was yesteryear and hopefully that means something better involving self-growth and maturity. If 23 marks the official start of adulting, I hope I'm getting there if not a step ahead.
Please bear me with while I'm acting all grown up and impeccably wise all of a sudden. I mean, fake it until you make it—that's the tea, isn't it? Since it's my birthday and it's necessary to remember that I'm the CEO of my own life, let's just get on board with the idea of me maturing and becoming the woman of my dream. With that, follows the inevitable acknowledgment that my birthday this year may seem to be slightly less nuanced compared to last years' to the point where I can't even identify any other differences between today and the other days except for the built up anticipation of getting older, but I think I'm getting there. I'm getting closer to being the woman I've always aspired to be.
