Twenty Five

I spent the last day as a twentyfive year old cursing human nature and her horrible idea to ravage my entire body with pain every month just so I can be reminded that my uterus is unoccupied, as that is apparently the only goal in life for a body; the reproduction of etc.

Not only that but in the span of 59 seconds I got up, dropped my humongous cell phone on my foot, cut my calf on the guillotine life steel protrusion of my fold away bed and burned my hand while pouring boiling water inside the rubberized plastic hot water bottle I got up to get to ease the slashing cramps in my abdomen in the first place.

When I got back to bed I was almost chuckling if it hadn’t shot another jolt of pain up my diaphragm. Why is it so harsh?! …”Jiminy Crickets” I pant in a G-Rated murmur.

Oh well; the morning is spent that way. The rest I sip on hot tea, try to do some work, watch whatever Netflix has dished out for me today. It feels like I should have a proper burial. My life is always so choreographically, catastrophically improbable I don’t even feel twenty-five years have passed; I must be at least forty by now. But a quick head count and a certainty that these years are all proof of a very young life stops the meandering self reflection and allows me to focus on the deadline I’m trying to make.

Sometimes I speak to my mother and we talk of myself, my efforts and adventures, how I miss her and she me and how surreal it seems to be doing what I am doing. She is right to say that we should applaud what is to be applauded even if it isn’t the culmination of the show or the credits but she also knows me well enough to sense my restlessness for the way things aren’t yet at the culminating point. Twenty five years and I am not where I wanted to be, in fact, I am now in New Zealand, far from everything I know and literally a day ahead of everyone I know, dying of cramps and, unbeknownst to me until later this night, burning my tender stomach skin with the hot water bottle that is fighting to melt off some of the cramping pain I have to put up with today.

I’ve learnt so much more about myself than I ever thought I could in only six months away (and counting). I have traveled and lived elsewhere plenty, although never for a career like this, and I am proud of my efforts and not at all shocked really that out of all things this is the infinite improbable scenario I’ve found myself in. But as fun as it is, as trying as it is, as terrifying, saddening, lonely, core shaking and character building (as if I need more character), I still feel unresolved and unfulfilled because I haven’t built my own Magrathea or saved a planet from being destroyed to make way for an intergalactic highway we do not need. I want more adventure, more achievement, more difference, and less cramps please, if possible.

It seemed rather bleak though while I epilogued my twenty-five years of age. That year I gained more diffidence in myself, I lost faith in a lot of people and in most men with their intentions in business, life and even love. I learned that I’m still “socially unacceptable” and that I do not think it will ever be different for me and that I still cannot accept that, I learned that I love certain people more than they love me and it doesn’t matter and that I love some so much more than that, that nothing else can phase me. I also learned that I have changed majorly, that I am catapulting myself daily to higher grounds and abilities even if I cannot see it for myself right away.

So; I turned twenty six. I have a small burn blister on the side of my abdomen, I am far away from everything and everyone, I have not achieved the state or level I want to achieve in this life and for the next couple of days every time I pee it looks like there’s been a small murder scene investigation in my bathroom.

I can look forward to completing my projects this year and visiting my friends and family in the U.S before heading off to the next adventure and the next time my uterus decides to torment me after another failed reproductive cycle. In truth I have an unspoken fear that this will all be for naught; that I am spending all this time away from the people I love and from perhaps doing something that is much more important than “climbing the star ladder”. I keep telling myself that I will make great impact, that it will all be the right thing, that if there is someone who invented destiny then I am part of that, that I was surely meant to be…but a lot of people think that right? Are we all correct or are we all megalomaniacs? Or are we correct megalomaniacs too afraid to act?

I thought I’d have it all figured out by now but I think after this last twentyfifth year of life and a bit more exploration of this world and its people, I might have more doubts and questions than I started with and that I remain, even to myself, the most infinitely improbable being here, and that I wish a lot of things.

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