Looking at my recent slew of verbose entries, I’ve certainly be more than garrulous. Maybe it’s me releasing all the teenage angst while I still can, as I inch towards the epochal Two–O. It’s strange that I approach this year’s birthday with foreboding, when previously I always looked forward eagerly to it – not least because my birthday often marked the cession of exams, but because I knew, back then, that with every passing year, I was one step closer towards escaping the yoke of parental oppression. (Ok, I’m exaggerating a little here. In retrospect, I’ve really cool parents who are less restrictive than most of their counterparts. But back in my early teens, any form of control – no matter how little - was resented by me.)

I remember when I was like 12 or 13, I got a really big kick out of my mum’s staff calling me Mr. Wong, because it made me feel adult and important. Now, I cringe whenever they address me by my last name, because it just reminds me of how much older I’ve become, and the additional responsibilities that have been thrust on my shoulders. The encumbrances of owning the salutation, “Mr.”, with legitimacy were more than I bargained for. More things have to be done on my own now. I’ve to apply for all the various crap shit on my own, call the putative organizations up to confirm the aforementioned crap shit on my own, and then pay for all those crap shit on my own. Everything is done on my own now.

It’s not that I’m daunted by independence, but sometimes, it can be quite overwhelming when you sit down and really think about. Sigh… I really miss those carefree days in kindergarten, when my biggest worry was memorizing “1 x 2 = 2, 2 x 2 = 4, 2 x 3 = 6 …”.