I woke up today much later than I was supposed to just to realize that my Birthday Week has started. No, it's not a mistake and it has nothing to do with a wishful thinking. I always wanted to treat my Birthday Week as something special, even magical, celebrating not only one day, but several days of holiday. Not holiday in general meaning, but holiday as a time just for you, when you can do everything you want, everything you usually lack the time for. It was several years ago, when I invented how my Birthday Week should be. And I am planning to realize it now.
Day 1
There is nothing like getting new shoes. I know I said it already thousand of times but I'm going to say it once again. New shoes can easily clear away of the cobwebs around your mind. That is why after treating myself with a delicious black coffee and a strawberry muffin, I went out for shopping with my lovely Miss Muffin and Miss Indonesia 2014. I have to say that i hate shopping. Unless I run straight to the shelf full of shoes, pick the ones and they are just perfect. And that was it. I purchased lovely red platforms and high heel booties. Let's get my Birthday Week started. It's not like I had to immediately spoil with a take away meal but at least I fixed it with a glass of rose Echo Falls. Ca ira!
If anybody's curious about that, I'm turning 27. I think it's ridiculous to hide your age. Every age means something, like for example for me being 27 means that I watched a Champions League final exactly nine years ago, when Milan won 4-0 with Barcelona, and I was eight at that time. I never wanted to be born in any other year and never really wanted to be younger. It's quite highly unpopular recently as I've just learnt out from several different sources that the 'value' of a woman (read: her sexual attractivity, and that's all what matters, right?) is highly related with her age (of course, it doesn't matter when it comes to men, every one of us dreams about sex with a sixty-years-old uncle with a big belly and living under risk of a heart attack). But basically is not a logic I'm trying to track in these (surely not very creative) statements. It's a suggestion that I should, somehow, accept the fact that with every birthday I become less and less attractive and therefore I should seriously worry. The best was definitely the comment of one of the random blog readers, who (seriously) stated that woman's attractivity always peaks at the age between 18 and 22. It made me only smile, and I even wrote back to this gentleman saying, politely, that he must be very yound or at last not very experienced... ehhm- you know what I mean.
Anyway, despite all these warning signals for me all over the internet, I didn't start my day from watching how is my cellulite doing. Being honest, I do feel a bit sad. But it's not related with passing years, but with a fact that i really liked being 26. Just like turning 25 didn't bring any special change into my life, my 26th Birthday really mattered. In terms of me being myself, for myself and wanting for myself. But to understand it, you have to meet Agnes.
AGNES
- I was different than you, when I was your age- after a moment of an embarrassing silence, said the woman who was driving me home, to me- age 22.- It's funny how many obstacles you see around you when you're so young. All these insecurities, feeling sometimes so ugly and pointless and feeling that ugly means being pointless. I don't miss this age.
I looked at her. Her name was Agnes and she was my professor of romance literature at the university. I don't know how old she could be at that time. Thirty four, thirty five maybe. But she made me thinking. Thinking that maybe everything what's in it for me is still about to come.
After that I found online some article about her. She was also, as I learnt, a really good writer. A magical storyteller, as some reviewer stated. And again I thought, that what's in it for me, is still about to come.
So please, join me in this Birthday week, a magical time, starting with this amazing memory:
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