I turned the daunting Two Five this past Sunday… And inevitably, I was miserable as hell, as I usually am on my birthday, because I refuse to go hand in hand with the ever passing time that is… my life. I hate turning a whole year older. In my mind I still see myself in my polka dot minnie mouse top and skirt ‘dancing’ (more bouncing on the spot and shaking my little bum) to records by Madonna and Michael Jackson.
It begs the question, when do we ‘grow up’? When in our lives do we realise we need to have our shit together, a solid plan, a steady relationship, a healthy social life, a job that pays enough to live in the city as well as time for your family and yourself… If I’m considering myself here, I have about 3% of the above. The weeks leading up to becoming 25 took it’s toll on me a little, I started to panic, I don’t even have a ‘job’, not really… Friends? Hardly, social life? If you call getting to know the indian family that run the local post office socialising, then I’m so on it. I live miles away from any family and as we’ve grown older we are less close than ever.
However, realistically, I founded a wedding photography business, creating it’s name, designing it’s logo, reaching out to clients, and shooting, that’s something, surely? I’ve given the odd bit of styling a bash, I’ve worked in endless retail stores, but really, if something’s not making me happy everyday, I tend to move on quickly. I can say with absolute confidence that the only thing I have pursued up to now, has been my partner in crime, the only ‘thing’ I haven’t lost interest in, and the only ‘thing’ that truly does make me happy everyday when I wake up. So at least I have that sorted at 25.
We’ve created our own world which sometimes we fear may be so vast and at the same time so small that there may not be any room for anyone else… We have our own inside jokes to the point where one look delivers an entire, detailed unsaid piece that we both completely understand. We are a couple of geeky, sad losers who spent his last birthday in Warner Brothers Harry Potter studios, with the photo of us in the flying car to prove it (hands down, one of the best things we have ever done). We sing the Rocky Balboa theme in the shower, yes, we have our own pieces that we are assigned to in the tune, it’s quite a performance. And we spend endless hours in our tiny little room, a room smaller than both of us lived in growing up individually, but we’ve created a haven for the two of us that’s so incredibly… us! It’s hard to leave. It’s almost like this room is an extension of ourselves, our minds and our ideas.
We sometimes wonder if other couples are this tightly knit… Outsiders probably think how can two people spend so much time together, surely one of them is more into it than the other, or someone is getting bored… We’re honestly just best friends, and that’s what we love. We have this brilliant relationship as a boyfriend and a girlfriend, where we’re in love and always remind each other of that, but then we have this girl and boy relationship, where we will rip each other to pieces, mocking each other, even fighting to the point of pain, somewhat like my brother and I as kids! It’s so much fun, the arguments are so intense and the making up results in a fresh new beginning every single time.
So, yes I am still trying to achieve the perfect job for myself, as he is out there achieving his photography career, our wedding business is our baby, our joint career, and we have our own careers for ourselves. And I have a minimal amount of friends, if not any at all really, but with him, I feel like I have all the friends I need.
Some people are much, much older than me and are still looking for the one, I feel incredibly blessed by the forces of nature that we two managed to bump into each other, the odds were against us. My family history so jumbled yet bringing my Mum and Dad (who are not from the UK nor the same continent) together in London, myself being born in the city and growing up in Oxfordshire, to then move to the north of England, where I was so very unhappy, and his family moving to the UK from Lithuania, ending up in the north of England also (at the same time that I moved there), and chose a university not in his own town, but in mine… And we both broke up with our exes at the same time. It just seems all very… meant to be? However soppy that sounds, I genuinely believe it.
I am learning to be less involved with my family, I’m such a passionate family girl, watching both my brothers start their lives and live far away from me has been one of the toughest things I’ve had to endure, but, now I’m 25, I need to deal with my shit and realise that this is how it goes… Soon, I will have ‘the career’, the house, the family will come along, because we need back up singers for our Rocky Theme of course.
I’ve tried to become more of a woman in terms of how I dress and present myself, it doesn’t work, I can do it and pull of it well, but it’s like wearing two left shoes. I’ve only just started to wear eye shadow for christ’s sake! I enjoy my attire, it’s playful and fun and comfortable. I can do the sex appeal, I just keep it behind closed doors is all.
Since my first year of uni, perhaps before then considering my behaviour as a teen, I realised the feminist in me, not the bra burning, man hating, menstrual blood eating enthusiast, but the kind who believes in complete equality in the human race. Being brought up with two brothers and an Italian father, the woman’s ‘place’ in the world was very obvious, surrounded by utensils, apron on, food on the table when the men come back from work. This is something I knew I wasn’t going to grow into when I grew into a bra (still room for improvement mind). These roles in gender anger me, and what angers me more so, is that because I enjoy cooking (I’m italian… it’s in my blood, cooking is an art form that tastes as good as it looks) some think I’m being hypocritical and see it as ‘cooking for my man’. Believe me, my man cooks, and he cooks so fucking well.
Though, when I tell my Dad these days, my dreams and aspirations, I get this almost empty ‘I wish you luck’, because I think he still believes that I should cater to my man. While he’s out working and earning the money, I should be in the home, raising children, cooking, cleaning… It’s hard to teach an old dog new tricks I suppose. He is, after all, 76 years young, a fabulous Father, a brilliantly energetic man with hundreds of stories to tell, and so funny. But, perhaps the ideals of a modern woman is something he can’t get his head around. I intend on showing him what I mean though. Sometimes, I imagine he views me as a male with the way that I talk and act. Men in my house are lucky, my Mother runs around them like a headless chicken making sure they’re watered and fed.
But going back to what I was originally babbling on about, growing up!! I guess, there is no time to grow up, there is no specific age to be settled. For me, having the one I want it all with is enough for now. Others need the job first, others need the job more than anything else. I’ll always be completely young at heart and never try to be something uncomfortable. I’m still growing into myself, still learning who I am. I feel myself most when I am with him. But, when I find the shoe that fits on the job front, I think I will bloom quite nicely, confidently, but most of all, comfortably.
