The game of life. Everyone loves to play. The ins and outs of local gossip, tweets online and the hum of busy people chatting loudly on the phone as they walk past. I wish I was like those other people, the ones who didn't have to try to fit in, or check the scoreboard every so often to see if they weren't trailing behind. I wish I was a winner, the type to brush of every compliment they receive and boast their confidence to the world. I wish I could be a winner like them, and have them play my game.
Thirty. Thirty years old is my age today. The age they tell you "you need to settle down before it's too late!", the fake enthusiasm in their voice resonating in your head. The shared thought that no one will want you now, you're too fat, too ugly for a man to want you to bear his children. Why is this all life is, your mother pushes out a baby, you grow up, push out your own baby, and then collapse and die. However, I just play their game and say "I just haven't found the right guy" knowing that there'll never be one, no one wants a freak like me. Who would want to share a bed with a person who never wants to get out of it, doesn't want to cook or clean, or tidy the house all before the man of the house comes home and wants to see his perfect wife. Why why why is this the game that I am forced to play? Why are the standards so high for a place so low and why does everyone want to stoop there. I just don't understand.
Twenty eight. Boring: if I could use one word to describe living, that's what it would be. Every day identical to the next. I cycle to work, pushing the rusty pedals of my bike up and down, up and down trying to avoid the puddles gathering at the edges of the pavement. I think over my morning; I get up, brush my teeth, make my breakfast and take my vitamins, and just like clockwork think "well that was ten minutes of my life I'll never get back" . The constant obsolete chatter between coworkers, the small talk in the break room, and then the inevitable cycle home, the ending of another day. Why is life so dull? The same sequence of events over and over, a broken record playing on repeat, scratched beyond repair. How does no one protest at the agony of simply just lifting a finger to press another letter on a keyboard. Even the task of lifting the pot to pour another cup of coffee is a chore. I guess the monotony is what makes this game unique. You always know what will happen, and when, and where, and how. But if at some uncertain point in the future it all changes, Ill be crying tears of joys whilst the rest of the world will be drowning in pain.
Twenty one. Looking around white walls, having to pick one square over fifty other. Staring at the estate agent, nodding or shaking your head as you pretend to listen to the reel of words rolling of his tongue. "Spacious" or "airy" is not what i would use to describe these four walls that me and a stranger are now contained in. When did a box of brick and mortar become so fascinating to a human being, paying extortionate prices for something you think is worth a penny. But I must. Now comes the age where it becomes not socially acceptable to live with someone else, specifically your parents and that you must branch out before the others "snatch up the market". Fitting in is a waste of time, or isn't that what they tell you? Play along or be cast aside and permanently ignored by everyone. Would I want that?
Eighteen. The big one. The birthday every teenager counts down the days to, wishing for that shiny new car to be waiting in the driveway, the one they have been begging their parents for all year. Not me. Being an official adult is not all its advertised to be, the sudden need to pay taxes, legally drink, and finally: decide what you're going to do next. You see, for someone like me this is tough, fitting in is my specialty, I go along with the crowd. I'm like a pawn a chess game: a whole life revolving around the next move of the king, and trying to avoid the other team knocking you down or you're dead. Being a player is underrated, the protagonist making all the wrong choices so you don't have to; going along with things is a lot easier than you realise. Especially in a game like this.
Fifteen. A fifth of your life gone and half you don't even remember, the tumour of memories removed from your brain at the age of seven and never to be seen again. Partying every weekend. Drinking in the park. Sneaking around and stealing the gullible parents alcohol, replacing it with coloured water. See, that's what every teenager did, all year long, for all seven years of their life at school, except me. I was never invited to these secret get togethers, or was the cool person that hosted this sacred function that everyone worshipped, I just stayed at home. I was in my room, scrolling through the endless photos and boomerangs of smiling faces glaring through the screen, wishing that it could be me, happy. At school it was much harder to play the game, people constantly talking, never just leaving you be. The "are you alright" when you are simply just resting your face or the comments on how you look today were just a little too much. However i appreciated how easy it was to blend in: one roll of a skirt, one swipe of lip gloss, and always one pen in your pocket in case someone needed it. That's the one thing about school: when you really need it, it's there for you, allowing you to step into the shadows and let other people take the stage.
Ten. Tired of playing the sad little girl, wishing the world away every single moment of my existence. The playground, bustling with excited, sweaty children playing "it", singing songs and chatting to friends. Walking across the slab of grey concrete, and staring through the irregular holes in the hedge, a branch always slightly obscuring my view of the world beyond. Picking a partner in class, praying the teacher won't just add you to another happy match, praying she won't pity my sorrowed expression and will just let me work alone. It was easier that way. Not trying at all was a lot easier than putting in the effort just to fail. Back then I wasn't very good at playing the game, I wasn't adjusted, not used the the daily toll of merely just existing. I like the game now, its uncomplicated, straightforward, predictable. It's easy to follow.
Zero. The game has started. The ship of success has already sailed, and sunk. The excitement of the game had already been lost before even my first pair of shoes had been outgrown. The moment I decided to play along to this never ending cycle of torment, starting on square one of a game containing millions. It's like eternal snakes and ladders, except there's a snake in every box ready to slide you down back to where you began. The first word I spoke, a gurgle in my mothers arms was my RSVP to God. I was here and I was ready to play.
