Two days ago, I turned 23. Well… Happy birthday to me.
The reason why I am not particularly ecstastic about this birthday is because I am on the verge of leaving early twenties and joining the mid-twenties group. And a couple more years after that, I could be considered late twenties. And before I know it I’ll be thirty. Ahaha.
BUT it is still a birthday, which was why I was so determined to enjoy it. Starting from last week’s mini-party to last Friday’s SFC family day, I don’t think I was able to really rest.
And now I’m paying for the fun with a big zit on my left cheek. The pimple has evolved and developed its own personality. My friends have been calling to say good night to me and “The Pimple” a.k.a. The North Star. Only my eternal optimism keeps me from going crazy: I see the zit as a symbol of the winter solstice — I never fail to grow one every year. (Last year’s was particularly dazzling. I had the Star of Bethlehem on my forehead.)
So what’s my birthday resolution? I need to lose 10 pounds. I’m far from obese (haha) but I’ve gained a few kilos since I transferred to my current department, and this is NOT acceptable as I’ve made a bet with two of my girlfriends that we have to reach supermodel-status-weight by the end of the year. I’ve been making really good progress and I’ve almost reached it three months ago. But considering how people around me have been feeding me (yes, Steffi, blame it on others), I’m in a panic mode right now. I never lose bets. I want my flat tummy and skinny arms and thighs back! And I don’t care if Ina tells me that I’ll look too thin.
Now if I could only get the will and energy to work out again everyday and face The Treadmill. Huhu.
[I just came from a belated-birthday-lunchdate with Cris. Let’s just say that I totally forgot about my new diet rules for the whole hour. Haha. I’ll start tomorrow.]
And since we’re talking about birthdays, today’s Grandmother Emma’s birthday. Happy birthday, Mama! I love you!