Wednesday 26 November 2008

Goodbye, Sweet Youth

A Young Sanya, Back In The Day...

Another year older and supposedly wiser, I crawl steadily closer towards my death...

Well, actually, despite the doom and gloom I thought I'd be experiencing on this special day of days, I'm in quite a chipper mood. So I'm 21, today: whoop-de-doo!

Although I can no longer use the excuse "I'm just a child", there isn't anything to stop me from enjoying life like a child every once in a while. As one fairly intelligent Time Lord said, and I paraphrase, "What's the point in being an adult, if you can't be childish, sometimes?" Doctor, you are so right.

Besides, I'm experiencing only one of the first few "milestone" birthdays in extraordinary circumstances: I'm living abroad, I'm in a relationship, and I'm surrounded by new friends, all of which adds up to a happy Sanya. Of course, I miss all of my best people from London and Brighton (too many to mention), but even they have made sure I know I'm not forgotten, back home. Who knows, by the time I reach thirty, I'll have had even more wonderful experiences to weave into my rich tapestry. And, at the risk of sounding like a schmultzy Christmas film moral, isn't that what life and growing older is all about?

So, as I wave goodbye to the last vestiges of youth, I will shed no tears, and I shall not have any regrets. In fact, I say "Bring it on, life! I'm only 21!"

3 comments:

  1. omg ur so brave!!! i dont wana be 21. btw, u keep a very good blog, very nicely written. i see u picked something up from my blog ;p

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  2. Trust me, it's not that bad - 've been 21 for nearly a week, now, and I recommend it!

    Thanks for th compliments on my blog, too - I never know if anyone's actually reading it, apart from my two other friends on Blogspot. What's your blog? I've become an addict!

    PS: Sorry I stole - if you're talking about that "santa" pic, though, learn to share! ;)

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  3. He sucks seductively on a Werthers original, then let's it slip out of his mouth and tumble downwards, until it sticks to his chest.

    He casts a baleful eye over the latest reports from "Sanya in España" and traces one particular sentence with a long, tapering finger.

    "I can no longer use the excuse 'I'm just a child'", he reads aloud, his voice hoarse, ragged, flinty. And then a sinister smile splits his face. "Oh Sanya, you'll always be my little boy... Mwaaaahahahahahahahaahha. MWAAAAAHAHAHAHAAHAH..."

    The maniacal laughter continues for some time, then dissolves into a painful coughing fit, so violent it shakes the dozen or so framed photos of Sanya that cover the desk...

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