It’s my party, and I’ll cry if I want to.

When I was a child in primary school, I didn’t quite grasp the underlying concept to the ubiquitous question “What do you want to be when you grow up?” Rather than replying with the logical, normal reply of “A fireman!”, “A nurse” or “A marine biologist!” I replied “I want to be 25!”

Well hold on to your hat, inner child, as I am about to make all your dreams a reality! This week marks the anniversary of my birth, with a number that can be multiplied with alarming simplicity to obtain much greater, much more significant digits.

My 6 year-old self chose 25 because apparently that was the age she thought she would be truly grown up, independent, a well-functioning, put-together adult. Sorry about that.

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2014: Keep it Clean

Yesterday was spent in the company of the Global Siblings, acting as host and tour guide to The Hague. Well, attempting to act as tour guide. My incompetence in my own city was highlighted by getting us lost not only once, but twice in search of cafés and monuments that I know rather well, as well as managing to get myself a fine on the public transport system. B strikes again.

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Dear Tony.

The festive season can be a lonely time for expats, far from home, family, friends and traditions. I have attended many Christmas markets, parties and dinners in not one, but two countries, and dodged mini-firework bombs and danced til 5am on New Year’s Eve. I have also spent an inordinate amount of time trawling the internet for photos, blogs and articles about the holidays in Australia.

It was not comforting.

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