When I was one, I had a wooden walker that I would race in, from one end of our apartment in Buenos Aires to the other. I also answered the phone “owa”, mimicking my mother’s “ola”.
When I was two, we moved to Aruba where enormous iguanas sunned themselves on our deck. My brothers went to boarding schools, a fact that was the reason that I was never allowed to go to boarding school, my parents apparently learning their lesson about children and watchful eyes.
When I was three, I had a friend named Tania Barros and we always played the Pretend Game. “Pretend… THIS! Pretend… THAT!” She had long hair that I coveted, I had short hair that she coveted.
When I was four, I had a colonoscopy to remove what may have been polyps from my intestines.
When I was five, we had a BMW in Morocco and I was afraid of it because the round headlights looked mean. Also, I spoke a little arabic because our maid’s son was my friend. Not the same maid that accidentally left the waterhose on in the indoor garden and flooded the entire sunken living room and then went screaming out of the house, terrified of the landlord’s consequences. Different maid.
When I was six, I had panda pyjamas that I loved, and my mother did a treasure hunt around the mostly-empty house in New Jersey so that I could find my presents. They also took me to the Statue of Liberty for the first time.
When I was seven, I got an ear infection because the little gold earrings that my godfather had given to me were so precious, I kept pushing the backing further and further into my ear so that I didn’t lose them.
When I was eight, I got glasses, and my first pair had Woodstock on the side and my mother misplaced them in an airport in South America and I was devastated. Also at eight, my mother cut her hair short and when she came home, I was so thrown off by the unfamiliar look that I spent an hour crying about it. I was sort of a melodramatic kid.
When I was nine, we moved to Cote D’Ivoire and I met Anna and Julia and when they were talking about being in the “lift” at the hotel, I had no idea what they meant but I didn’t ask, assuming they were playing with a forklift. I learned over time what they meant without having to ask and look stupid, and just assuming an answer would reveal itself in context has since become a somewhat dubious skill of mine.
When I was ten, I danced a little Flamenco routine at our International Festival because I’d been home sick the day our French class had learned our class dance and the teacher had told my mother I thus couldn’t participate and my mother basically said (in nicer terms) “fuck THAT noise” and taught me a little Flamenco routine which I performed wearing a Flamenco dress that my dad had brought me from Spain. I took my glasses off to dance so I have a memory of not being nervous because all I could see was the chalk line on the grass that my mother had marked down for me.
When I was eleven, I went to the US on holidays with my best friend Cecile and we insisted on owning matching clothes in everything but I pitched a fit when Cecile got a sweater in D.C. and I didn’t. Also, my mother found pot in the drawer at a HoJo and we changed hotels but because I was so young, she told me it was “cigarettes” and I didn’t see what was so wrong with that.
When I was twelve, we moved to Houston from a short-lived assignment in Tunisia and I was considered a complete and utter nerd at the middle school I attended. I only had one friend. We wore matching squaw costumes for Halloween.
When I was thirteen, I got contacts, the beginnings of a figure, and a boyfriend. Suddenly, I had more than one friend. Pre-teens are shallow.
When I was fourteen, I got involved in a youth group and we sang hymns and went bowling and then went to Mexico to build houses for young families. I can’t tell which moment it was that I lost my already-shaky and socially-acquired faith; whether it was when our youth group changed the words to “Peaceful Easy Feeling” by the Eagles so that it was about Jesus and not a woman, or whether it was when one neighboring mission group on the Mexico trip had a somewhat charismatic Baptist leader who told us to “stand up if we felt the holy spirit” and I was almost compelled to stand up just because everyone else was and it made me vaguely disgusted with myself. Maybe a combination of the two.
When I was fifteen, I celebrated my birthday at a camp by Lake Naivasha with classmates I’d just met, having just moved to Kenya. The standout moment in an otherwise awkward weekend was that Marnix, whom I didn’t personally know yet but thought hated me, saw me run full-on into a painful bush and came over to help extricate my caught pants from the thorns. It was the first time he was nice to me and I think it was the start to our friendship although doubtless he’d forgotten it.
When I was sixteen, my parents threw me a sweet sixteen party in our living room and that morning, we cleared the entire living room of furniture. My brother had sent me Billy Joel’s greatest hits and I spent the morning in there, listening to it and dancing around the room. I still love empty rooms. It was also the year I lost my virginity.
When I was seventeen, we moved back to Houston and I got my first real job, working at the Gap. I also joined and hated our high school drill team, dated a punk and a theatre dork, walked around the Village alone for the first time whilst in New York on holiday, got into drinking coffee as a hobby, and got into college.
When I was eighteen, I spent most of my time with my college roommate and best friend, Beth. I also ate a chili dog for the first time, had my first hangover, lived in my own apartment for the first time, got in my first (and only) near-accident, and by the end of being eighteen, broke up with my first serious boyfriend.
When I was nineteen, I had a self destructive friend who was in love with another mutual friend of ours. I got stuck in several snowstorms, went to Egypt and hated it, and went to Maine and loved it.
When I was twenty, I was depressed a lot, got into R.E.M. and Radiohead, and am convinced the three are related. I started smoking, made more self-destructive friends, was the editor of the college newspaper, practically failed out of English Medieval History, watched my brother graduate from his MBA, and ran out of money a lot. Oh, and wore lots of hoodies.
When I was twenty one, I snapped out of it. I also fell in love with several good friends, all to disasterous effect. Notably, I quit my college newspaper and thought about moving to London. I also started this blog.
When I was twenty two, I graduated from college and got a job. I also had two or three really stupid relationships of varying lengths and stupidities. I spent a lot of time going to stores and buying clothes on a credit card that withered and died a few months later without too much long-term damage. I also met Biscuit.
When I was twenty three, I decided to apply for law school and then decided not to go. In between those two things, I had appendicitis, during a blackout, I got an agent, I dated two very different guys, I met Kate, I was pleasantly surprised by great gifts and great family at Christmas, I spent Valentine’s Day alone, I went to Brasil, and I met Stuart.
When I was twenty four, I had a new roommate (Kate), a new toy (iPod), and a new love (Stuart). I also had a wedding, a honeymoon, great holidays, and a blizzard, made the decision to quit smoking, made the decision to start a diet, learned how to play tennis, painted a room red, got to know my in-laws, went to two weddings, got a great tax return, and developed a taste for Madeira. Twenty four, I think, was a good year.
Let’s see what twenty five brings.

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