I haven't blogged in ages and I figured I should. Aside from being a nice reminder of things that happened in our lives, it's also pretty therapeutic. And Lord knows I need therapy from time to time. Comes with the whole territory of being Hainanese. Heh.
Anyway, it's been over six years of blogging now. Or semi-blogging, as the case may be. Jesse's going to Primary 1 next year. Maddie turns 1 this Sunday. I'm pushing 40. And Mae is 25. (It's statements like this last one that ensures I get to turn 40.)
At this stage, if you've read this far, you'd realise I'm just rambling. Sort of a freestyle riffing. There is probably a point to this post, but it might take awhile getting there. It probably has to do with growing old and getting verbose. A few more years, I'll be recounting war stories and their many reruns from a rocking chair.
So yeah, this one's about growing old, and growing up.
I look back at the last six years of blogging and I don't recognise the blogger. I've grown awfully cynical and perhaps even somewhat bitter. I don't marvel at too many things these days. And people don't surprise me any more. I've grown to hate more things than I love. Because with age and experience, comes the ability to see through all kinds of bullshit. You know, the kind that suspends your disbelief in anything, allowing you to be happy and well-adjusted.
Growing old sucks. Cos you can't find the time to watch a movie at the cinemas. No wonder I'm bitter.
I need to watch Iron Man 2 before I self-destruct.