I am half way into my twentieth year and I can’t relate of any significant change since I turned twenty, since I wrote twenty a day in the life, only an increase in a fetishism for cleavage and girls with thigh gaps. Everything I planned for TWENTY seems to be just another pipe dream, or maybe I just had my hopes too high or it could be true that life starts at forty and so there should be no hurry, I should just remain young silly high and free, drink everyday that ends with a y and get laid more times than I have a balanced diet, maybe those stories on Forbes of top twenty at twenty moguls are just another of the many fairy tales, everybody at twenty is struggling with school, a little bit of drinking, a little bit of gambling and lots of bad luck, waiting for forty and fate.
Who thinks about what (s)he will name his or her daughter at twenty…banter over diapers with the girls in the salon gives you nightmares, what will happen to all these partying on Friday nights, what will happen to girls night out on Wednesday, cant they just build baby sections in bars where you can leave your child and collect her later in the morning when you have had enough of the shots, can’t Apple come up with a diaper changing application, children must be such a turn down damn party poopers! Too bad they never come with automatic remotes let alone manuals otherwise you’d just press sleep anytime you hear of a party in town or press shift+control+D to change diapers. How would you ask your son if he has completed his assignment while you dreaded them? Life can be so unrealistic.
I’ve noticed I can’t quite seat comfortably on bar seats and I sip my drink reluctantly, I dread cirrhosis, dying of it at such a tender age, not seeing myself on Forbes just because I couldn’t just have enough and more so because you never drunk because you wanted to or because you had had a bad day in the office, a bad day in class but because you had a crush on that waitresses’ posterior and it couldn’t save you from cirrhosis, what would your eulogy read if you succumbed to it “the late died on a bar counter staring at a waitresses’ behind, he will forever be remembered for his love for sizeable bums” that would be such a disgrace and you’d have a hard time if there are no women with big bums in the ancestral world, worse if the ancestors despise people who stare much at derrieres and so you’d be given odd jobs like cleaning tables or emptying trash cans in the underworld. Such misery!
With every day that passes, I am edging closer towards becoming a family man but I can’t just spot that girl who’d take good care of my kids; a girl who subscribes to my school of thought on practically everything. one with a pretty mind, pretty heart and pretty soul, they are all either obsessed with having a thigh gap, a good hair day, perky boobs and an ample derriere, none who thinks my obsession with having a house somewhere in an Island in Hawaii, complete with beautifully manicured lawns and a sunroom filled with rocking chairs and me walking around in a Prada underwear is the true definition of living the American dream. A girl who hails from either of the Caribbean islands, with black hair made into a beautiful afro, a girl who enjoys sex and knows half of the styles in Kamasutra. What happens if she of your dreams lives a thousand miles, several seas and half the world away? The math seems impossible.
I have began adopting the idea that I am growing older so I am trying to read more, especially the dailies, now I know what an op-ed is and I follow some of the columns, I can now forfeit gum and tropical mint sweets for the Saturday nation or the business daily. I get to know what a girl my age is doing in Mandera or the money a guy my age is making from a smart investment in Philadelphia, everything that is happening all over the world, conversations in boardrooms where ideas are turned into million dollar investments, what is happening in wallstreet. From Timbuktu to Nicaragua, Jakarta to Budapest Manila to Ohio . You virtually travel the world, meet people and learn. I am now watching what would be considered grown up TV, more of shark tank and less of keeping up with the kardashians. More of smart investment channels and less of junk TV. Life is beginning to feel more serious but I don’t think I’ll ever stop watching game of thrones. I am even beginning to have smarter dreams. Haha no more dreaming of thieves in your neighborhood or mono-eyed monsters chasing after you in the Amazon. Last night I dreamt rubbing sticks to make a fire in a forest in North Wales after taking an advance vacation. My guide is skinning a rabbit from a successful hunt. Dinner in the woods. The night before I was having coffee with Sofia Vergara in an upstate restaurant in Hollywood.
I am not sure what kind of music a focused twenty year old listens to, must it always be jazz? Because pop has forever been seen as teenage, soul sounds forty and country octogenarian, or you simply don’t listen to music and if the urge becomes irresistible, you join the youth choir in your church. Listening to loud music is forbidden, it makes you look young and stupid, just where do you drain your sorrow or how do you nurse a heartbreak?…I heard someone say take a cold shower…sing in the shower. So mean.
I Just can’t wait to leave twenty and perhaps get to forty…where life begins, with grown up kids, a few people calling you boss, a personal assistant picking your calls, a direct line to the president, a vacation around the corner, a different destination this time, a not so big tummy, an Allen Edmond oxford shoe, and a company on the gaining end of the New York Stock Exchange…see you there.
Peace and Love.