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How turning older past twenty five changed some of my perspectives towards life. I’m learning and growing and loving every moment of life!
Twenty seven and flailing. You think Dominatrix ? Nay, the Opposite! If anything could be more contrasting that would be me. Now that I have more silver hair than I can care to hide behind a youth’fuller’ layer of black (my daily dose of hair loss adds to the scandal in my scalp), I feel a little mature. Mature, not old. In fact, I am freakishly confident even to raise a human child.
That escalated quickly.
I know, right?
Now now, lower your eyebrows, enough of being surprised. I can be a child-rearer any moment now.
Things changed for me after twenty five. I have been pondering on that ever since. I became more tolerant, more receptive, more carefree, less abusive (by the tongue, I ain’t violent) and more I-love-my-couch-on-weekends type. Also, I can pull off that oomph factor (I love you Irene Adler!) if I want to. No, seriously. Privileges are cut down at 26+ (tickets at double the price) and so greeted me, Germany, my home since 17 months. Cold and moody like this typical teen I used to be, Aachen witnesses me grow every day.
I was terrible at Bollywood dancing when I was a college kid, but was least bothered of what people would think of me. (Uhh, maybe a little, but mostly no.) So it was a dance performance with the freshers. I was a year senior to them. Fun choreography, fun at dancing it out. I loouuuve dancing but I am not good at it. I believe in recognising your flaws, and not being blind in self-appreciation all the time. And the greatest thing is that I had and have no inhibitions whatsoever in dancing (unless Mr.Crush is staring). So I went for it. I sucked. I was elated. I didn’t care I was not even close to perfect. I was clumsy at my first stage performance yet I loved myself for trying.
I used to be insecure about my Self because I never did introspect. I was never loud, never took risks, never had alcohol, never dropped out of classes and I took shit from people. I hesitated a million times before I had my first kiss. It was no big deal, but I remember freaking out afterwards. But one fine day everything stopped to matter. The day I turned twenty six. I even joined Tinder for a while! It was stupid. SO stupid. But fun. Someone had even asked me out for coffee. By me, obviously I mean two of my girlfriends fake-chatting from my profile. They would have made a happy couple, my girls, and Stephan, the Stunner. “I think I like you!” Sure you think Mister. Before this new self came shining out of the closet, a proposal from the opposite sex would receive an immediate ”no” (my ex-boyfriend or me never proposed to each other, it transited ever so smoothly from buddies to a couple). But now I do consider going out, an option. It is not a big deal, it never was. Wish my younger self knew that, I could go out with that cute Punjabi guy from office. He received a “no” too, and he had asked for yummy Mango shake on a breezy summer evening. I had drooled and rejected.
Things happen late with me, so thinks I. I had my crushes and mild heartbreaks, newer crushes and he-who-must-not-be-named-must-not-know stuff, wanting to hold hands but pretending I don’t even care which girls he goes out with, secretly wishing he would know while genuinely hoping he does not. That is stupid teenage shit and I am still not past it. And I think someone said child-rearer a little while ago? I stick to that. Mom-ing around is my thing.
Twenty six changed me, mostly for the better. But I am way calmer now. I freak out less. I am less afraid of failing. I do not shy away from disagreeing, I am not afraid to lose people. And there I rectify my old self, disagreeing actually brings you closer. You make friends, not lose them. I trash my friends a lot, but only if they trash me too. Insult based humor is sorta hot.
I think I have met my match. I hate cooking. He loves to cook! He hates cleaning, I love to clean. He loves talking, I love listening. We have the same favorite song! He is pretty awesome in his own tall-dark-handsome ways. He is patient, sincere and sometimes shy, and doesn’t mind me occasionally leaning against his frame. He calls a friend of mine “Chhoti”, which means the little one. He always wanted a little sister to dote on, and he finds that in her. Does my heart ache for him? Not yet. Does his? No freakin’ way. He is almost every bit the person I would like to be with, except that, he has to find me too. And when he does, I believe we will create Magic!
Image Source: Unsplash
Published earlier here.
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Currently Masters student at RWTH Aachen Germany.
I love all things new. Staying in my
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