Breaking out the dentures
My mind has taken on the persona of a highly dramatic and annoying teenager ever since I turned twenty over a month back. Ironic, isn't it? Let me explain.
If you live in Tamil Nadu, you've surely been exposed to the phenomenon that is the Tamil serial. To break it down for you: crying, revenge, hospitals, mother-in-laws, other in-laws, crying, more revenge, death, death and death. That's the peppy theme the serials maintain consistently, across various television networks and over a thousand episodes each. But we have to give credit where it's due; the script writers do get creative with their murders!
Where was I going with this...? Oh, right. DRAMA. My mind enacts a TV serial-appropriate level reaction when my age comes up. "I'm twenty?" "I'm TWENTY?" "I'M TWENTY?!"
But of course, I have no problem believing that I'm mature and sophisticated. Definitely capable of running my own life in the near future. I'm not at all bothered by this "dramatic chipmunk GIF" that's judging me right now.
Now that we've established I'm in sync with my thoughts, let's address the other issue. Over the years, I've been given many labels: sister, "only second daughter" (thanks for the reassurance, dad), grand daughter, student, dancer...
Mom.
No, it's not what you think.
Yes, I'm apparently the "mom friend" of the group- the one that makes her friends eat, scolds them about lifestyle choices, gives advice whether asked or not, checks up on them at regular intervals, listens to their complaints, makes attempts to comfort them- the whole package. The issue here is whether I should take it as a compliment or not. Am I too overbearing? Should I lighten up? Are people scared of me? Am I acting my age? (Ha.)
Honestly, this post is just my over dramatic mind projecting. I'm perfectly okay with being twenty, and am (partially) embracing the sentiment behind this "mom" title. We all know that I'm really only 12 years old and get excited about anything Disney.
You have reached the end of this bowl of spaghetti. Here's a cookie for your efforts! 🍪
If you live in Tamil Nadu, you've surely been exposed to the phenomenon that is the Tamil serial. To break it down for you: crying, revenge, hospitals, mother-in-laws, other in-laws, crying, more revenge, death, death and death. That's the peppy theme the serials maintain consistently, across various television networks and over a thousand episodes each. But we have to give credit where it's due; the script writers do get creative with their murders!
Where was I going with this...? Oh, right. DRAMA. My mind enacts a TV serial-appropriate level reaction when my age comes up. "I'm twenty?" "I'm TWENTY?" "I'M TWENTY?!"
But of course, I have no problem believing that I'm mature and sophisticated. Definitely capable of running my own life in the near future. I'm not at all bothered by this "dramatic chipmunk GIF" that's judging me right now.
Now that we've established I'm in sync with my thoughts, let's address the other issue. Over the years, I've been given many labels: sister, "only second daughter" (thanks for the reassurance, dad), grand daughter, student, dancer...
Mom.
No, it's not what you think.
Yes, I'm apparently the "mom friend" of the group- the one that makes her friends eat, scolds them about lifestyle choices, gives advice whether asked or not, checks up on them at regular intervals, listens to their complaints, makes attempts to comfort them- the whole package. The issue here is whether I should take it as a compliment or not. Am I too overbearing? Should I lighten up? Are people scared of me? Am I acting my age? (Ha.)
Honestly, this post is just my over dramatic mind projecting. I'm perfectly okay with being twenty, and am (partially) embracing the sentiment behind this "mom" title. We all know that I'm really only 12 years old and get excited about anything Disney.
You have reached the end of this bowl of spaghetti. Here's a cookie for your efforts! 🍪
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