Twenty Five

" The years teach much which the days never knew."-Ralph Waldo Emerson

In less than two weeks, the clock will strike twelve and on a cold Tuesday, I will complete my twenty-fifth revolution around the sun. I will officially become eligible to run for the House of representatives and will enter the world of lower car insurance and quarter-life crises.

I am pretty sure that in the past 25 years I have only learned one thing. Growing up is difficult. Most people who know me closely can attest to my childish qualities. I am overly stubborn and passionate. I am incredibly opinionated. And I like toys and chocolates. I break into dance moves randomly, laugh obnoxiously and obsess over frogs. When someone gives me the silent treatment, I pretend they are planning a surprise. When someone is mad at me, I appease them with knock-knock jokes. And when someone suffers from insomnia, I recommend a dose of Arthur!

But there's more. On my first day at Marquette, a professor mistakenly assumed that I was a high-school senior on my college visit. She consequently explained her imaging research with incredible simplicity. I recently got carded before watching a rated R movie. I am sporting the same hair-cut that I had weeks before I turned 21. And my current favorite pair of denim shorts is from 8th grade.

So how can I convince the world that despite my quirks and my looks, I truly am 25? How can I assure you all that I will certainly become older and wiser? The honest answer is that I can't. I may become older, but that definitely will not make me wiser. I will continue to indulge in my childish pleasures. I will send out random presents and get excited for Christmas lights. I will giggle like a giddy child as my birthday approaches. And I will ask you eight times to explain your joke before I finally get it.

My naivety is a boon though. Being gullible helps one believe in fairy-tales and happy endings. Don't get me wrong, I am a sucker for a good action movie, but fables impart an essential cheer along with faith. Children never stop believing. That is why Santa is so popular. That is why losing teeth is a great money-making scheme as a child. And that is why they take that fearless leap from the dense branches of an unusually high tree. I will soon be a 25 year old child. And I believe. So I will continue taking my leaps and turns, and jumping from tree to tree. Surely, sometimes I will fall. After which I will just stand up with a smile on my face and skip to the next sandbox.

I won a copy of Peter Pan in the 1st grade during a dance competition. Since then, I have held a special attachment to that story and perhaps that is where the desperation to hold on to childhood comes from. It is the best depiction of friendship and the wonders of childhood. Chicago is my Neverland and I am Peter Pan: the perfect amalgam of mischief, charm and adventure. Now, why would I ever trade that for growing up?

Just Desserts

It's been a while. Today I'll be talking about cake. And not just any cake, but the one that you get on your birthday. See, birthday cakes are just slightly more special than regular cakes. Each layer of this cake represents a unique quality of yours and with each bite, you embrace the blessing of a friend. The cake is even more delicious because someone else ordered it for you. Someone else went through the trouble to make this day special. Yes, birthday cakes are the best.

In the dark room, there is nothing but the flames of your years, glowing brightly and illuminating the surrounding. It's symbolic of the radiance that you create in others' lives. Beneath those candles is your name, carved in beautiful calligraphy atop a frosting that one can only crave for. You close your eyes and make a wish. A pause is necessary in case you want to change it. But you go ahead with your initial wish. I want the largest piece of cake today.

Now the knife makes its way through the layers. For the first time, you catch a glimpse at the inside of the cake. Each layer so beautifully structured. You stop to wonder why your life isn't an accurate reflection of this cake? Why aren't all the layers so perfect? And it suddenly dawns on you, perhaps the knife needs to cut farther to reveal the perfection of those layers in your life.

You feed the first slice to your best friend in the room. She takes a giant bite and poses for the camera. But you're not done here. She offers to feed you. SMACK. The delicious frosting is now sporting a Santa-like beard on your face. Oh those perfect layers are now smeared in utter randomness. And you, the birthday celebrity, look just a tad ridiculous.

You smile and pose for the camera. So what if these layers are mixed and mashed and smothered upon your face? You stick your tongue out and reach for the corner of your mouth. Mmm.. A hint of chocolate ganache mixed with coconut and butter-cream. The deliciousness is retained. You return for another piece and repeat the ritual with every special person in the room. More layers reduced to art on your face. The cake is now getting smaller. There are only so many pieces left. In an effort to feed others, you have forgotten to save a giant piece for yourself.

And the night comes to an end. All that remain are the remains of your birthday cake. So, in your empty living room you ponder.

Did I get the largest piece of cake?