Amidst studying for two exams for a unit that I did not put any effort into for the entire semester, I have gotten the urge to blog a little about turning 25.
I decided that instead of having a big birthday party at my favourite restaurant (which is nothing more than a bathroom tiled northern indian hole in the wall), I opted to get out of the city and clock in my days on the farm which is a requirement for my degree. It wasn’t really the best idea to be perfectly honest. I didn’t know the people I was going with which though in many many cases turns out to be the beginning of a beautiful friendship, this turned out to probably be the beginning of a life time of awkward moments. However, I must say that on the day of my birthday I had a charming time picking out dirt from wool fleeces and tipping sheep, not to mention taking out a grass seed from a sheep’s genital region. It was really quite nice to be so far away from familiarity of friends and the city that I was able to just think about what it means to be 25. Also, I think spending time with the sheep was so refreshing not being burdened by social bit of life.
Alas as perfect as I imagined it to be, things got pretty bad pretty quickly. As I said, not getting along with the people who were on placement with me was really upsetting. Which started to make me question what being 25 meant. From this experience, I know that being older doesn’t mean I’m immune to what people say about me. I do still care too much about what people say about me, be them younger or older. I don’t think there will ever come a time when the opinions of others will not affect me both positively and negatively. But also, I am so convinced of the fact that the older we are the more we need to realise that this life isn’t meant to be walked alone. We aren’t meant to be islands, we need the love and support of friends and family who remind us of who we are and how much they love us regardless of our stupidity and sinfulness. Coming back to the city, I remember just texting my friends about how awful I was feeling. And being so happy to see my houseguest so I could talk to her about it all. Needless to say, I have such amazing friends. Who tell me straight up when I’m being an idiot and yet still remind me of how much they care for me. Being 25 to me means not the absence of my failings or the regression of my insecurities but the acceptance of my humanity and the realisation of my membership of a wider body of people who are all dependent of each other. And because I am a christian, my membership belongs in the church. And I need the church always.
okay, back to study, you old thing you.