I’ll be turning a quarter of a century in a little over a month, and I am actually pretty excited. I was never really a party gal. I’d rather sit outside in a lawn chair with a few close friends and sip on cold orange juice from wine glasses or maybe go to a coffee shop and let my clothes absorb the smell of coffee beans as I lose myself in a good book or in some writing, and then take pauses to spy and eavesdrop on strangers I may never see again. Conversations over coffee are always the most interesting.

Getting older is kinda nice. You start to feel more mellow. You want to spend your time thoughtfully. You start to enjoy being in the moment. You become more present in your conversations as they get deeper and more meaningful.

Your days are longer because your body has become alert at 7 or 8 a.m., and your nights get shorter because you probably prefer to be home by 9 and in bed at 10.

People will assume you’re pretty wise and experienced. So sometimes they will ask to hear about your plan for your life, but you know they’re just reminding you your clock is ticking. There is a little pressure in wanting to respond with something impressive, so they wouldn’t get the chance they’re waiting for, the chance to give you a life lecture. But tell them the truth in a surprising way because unlike you, surprises never get old. And no surprised face can ever look the same or be repeated.

You start to crave steamed sticky rice stuffed in pork sockets. You also want to wash that down with the bland veggie soup, the kind your mother makes for your father. Home cooked meals become what satisfies your appetite.
On sunny days at the park, you chase your nieces and nephews on the playground, and although you are short and petite, you feel like a giant, and you doubt you can make it through the tunnel, yet you still try. You run and run until you feel too old for kid games. (Breath) But it makes the inner-child in you happy. You think about your age, and you tell yourself to not be too serious.


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