I wrote this little post on Jul 26 for a popular online mag in Hong Kong but it was turned away for not being useful enough. I opine that my life tips are a slightly more below-the-surface than your average self-help manual. Oh well, can’t win em all. You have to read it now. Or not.
As I write this, I have exactly one fortnight left of my twenties. My big Three Oh beckons with a sense of foreboding. I have prepared for this event like I will to cease to exist after it has passed. Like this is what the Mayans were talking about when they said the world would end in 2012. Like I expect some kind of horribly extended rude Cinderella shock – my friends turn into rats, my apartment, a dumpster and I am a homeless person dressed in rags (or worse, head-to-toe monogram print). In preparation for said series of unfortunate events, my close friends and I intend to spend 4 days in bars, restaurants and spas so that by the end of it all, I expect I’ll barely be able to remember my name let alone age. And who knows, even score some birthday sex while I am at it. Oh, like you don’t want that on your birthday?
You should know that I moved to Hong Kong nearly two years ago from another supercity and when I did so, I was not nearly a quarter of the hedonist, food-fetishist alcoholic fiend that Hong Kong has (so effortlessly) turned me into. I don’t think twice about drinking till 5 am on weeknight, or worse, on a Sunday night (maybe once, but I am quick dismiss that part of my conscience) or spending a thousand Hong Kong dollars on a meal or sending a raunchy text for a booty call even.
“I have just realized these are the last two weeks of my twenties. I feel an irrational need to go all out on stupidity”
“Go for it. A man a night please”
NB: The above should be taken with a ladle of salt, please, I am not a Kardashian.
Hyperbole notwithstanding, a younger, saner and less wrinkly me would have scoffed at all those ideas and shown remarkably better judgment. Some might deduce that I have probably had a very tame life prior to moving here and am making up for lost time (and mistakes) especially considering I spent some of my formative years in Singapore and being deprived of chewing gum for 8 years will do that to a person. To that I say “I went to business school” and that argument alone would suffice.
Maybe Hong Kong does that to you. Hong Kong is cooler than the average city. It is London with a crack cocaine addiction and New York on steroids, except without stuffiness of the former and the rat-infested trains of the latter. You have to try really hard to be boring in Hong Kong. You have to deliberately decline invites, feign imaginary sicknesses and nonexistent work deadlines, keep your head down while on the escalator and then let out a celebratory burp when you manage to spend the evening on and with your couch. True story: my friends had to sit me down and coach me on how to say no to people.
I am really hoping at least one person reading this could relate to that last paragraph or I really need to pull my life together. And maybe get into AA.
But my point is that as long as I am in fabulous Hong Kong, it should not matter that I have exactly one fortnight left of my twenties. I’ll probably still wake up the same person I was 24 hours prior. I’ll have the same job (if the EU doesn’t throw a wrench in that plan); I’ll still have a calendar choc full of things to go to/see/do; I’ll still be single (insert predictable “and that’s okay, I am really happy, seriously”); I’ll still be the same sharp girl with a knack for making dumb decisions and thank heavens for this last one, I’ll still have the same amazing friends.
Or not, I may wake up and have turned into Meatloaf. Anything’s possible.
But there is one good reason it should matter – I have a fortnight to get bikini-ready. Time to make yet another failed diet plan. Fifteen days. On second thought, does anyone know a good liposuction-ist?