On Turning Old-er

Ok, so there I was. At 1 minute before midnight, on the eve of my birthday.

As the minute hand reached 12, I closed my eyes. And then opened them. I looked up, down, and all around.

Where was the cloud that would bring forth the rain of wisdom and riches? Hello?

Kena con.

Some key highlights of my 30 years here on this planet.

My first ambition was to be a doctor. Like the other brainwashed kiddies, that was my answer to the teacher's question of "What do you want to be when you grow up?".

My first car crash happened when I was 10-years old. I wanted to wash my mother's car (1980s, solid iron Volvo). As the car was parked in the porch, I sought ways to push the car back a little, so it was outside in the garden. All attempts that I knew of (short of turning on the engine) - release handbrake, push till I burst a jugular - failed. Then my dad enlightened me: release the handbrake and free the gear. So I dutifully followed my dad's advice - and the car rolled down the slope of my driveway and hit my neighbour's car. A Mercedes.

I failed my ballet Grade 5 exam. I did it on purpose, so I could get out of ballet classes. My plan failed. I had to endure another 3 years of prancing around in leotard and tights before my mother finally realized her lump-of-a-daughter would never be a graceful ballerina.

I was caught for cheating in a school exam when I was in Standard 3. I remember the headmistress remarking to another teacher how I "looked like an angel, but am so capable of So Much Badness".

When I was about 9-years old, I was the proud owner of 3 kittens, kept illegally in my room. I diligently took care of them for one week before getting busted by my dad. He immediately drove off with them and dumped them at a bus stop in Jalan Gasing. My last memory of the 3 kittens was of their little faces pressed against the side of the pink plastic bag my dad threw them in.

I loved playing with matches. When my mother found a stash of burnt matchsticks, I told her my sister did it. Later, when I was slightly older and wiser, I questioned my logic in keeping a stash of burnt matchsticks, instead of throwing away all evidence.

In Standard 4, I was hauled by my teacher for trying to forge my mother's signature on my report card. While the strokes were almost professional, my choice of stationery wasn't. I had used a blue coloured pencil. It wasn't even sharpened.

Sigh. The memories of childhood.

Seemed like only yesterday when, in the heat of an argument, my sister pulled out a fistful of my hair.

Thanks for the birthday wish, Nut!