On turning twenty-two

Today, I cross the threshold and inevitably shake the hand of the big two-two, the kind of handshake you give a new boss, as if to say, “Yessir, I’m going to make it work, sir,” all the while nursing butterflies and nerves and jelly knees at the prospect of Things to Come.

When I was a young twenty-one frustrated with the publishing industry (which is what I always dreamed it to be, but somehow did not fulfill me as I expected it to), I promised myself to quit my job before my twenty-second birthday. I didn’t.

When I was an old twenty-one, I decided, as only a twenty-one year old can, to go back to school and study interior design. Frankly, and I can say this now with a certainty as only a twenty-two year old can, I do not see myself doing graphic design for the rest of my life anymore. There are a handful of reasons and twice as many excuses, but in the end, it is a decision in itself, and more importantly, it’s about reining in my pride just enough to accept my oversight and lack of wisdom. This will change Things to Come, forever.

At least in the next two years, Things to Come means being a working student. I start in April with two subjects at PSID. I already have a notebook for class. It is an A5-size lined notebook with 112 pages and Vincent Van Gogh’s oil painting, Blossoming Almond Tree on the cover.

These days, I am obsessed with design magazines—WALLPAPER* is my favorite, hands down; books, all kinds of books—my most recent acquisition is State by State, a compilation of 50 essays by 50 writers on the 50 states of the US of A; designer chairs, which germinated from my unsuccessful attempt to find the perfect bookcase and eventual fascination for furniture in general; Jaime Hayon’s work, particularly his electric blue cupboard; a very particular shade of blue, which explains the blue cupboard, and also my blue chinos (which I wear a LOT) and The Blue Room in the Nights in Rodanthe movie. I am absolutely dependent on coffee, preferrably cappuccino. I have developed an unlikely taste for loose polo shirts, wide-legged trousers, leather satchels, and floral patterns. I am now perfectly capable of calling my boyfriend, my boyfriend without the least self-consciousness. I read (and eat) voraciously and have recently started putting tiny post-its on pages with excerpts I like—I am this ( ) close to writing on the margins. I have also formed a habit of putting on sunblock, wearing shades, and using an umbrella—probably everything short of turning into a bat.

These are things that took my entire life to cultivate. A precious few will stay that way, but most will probably change. These last few months, I felt myself grow roots and settle inwards, which is perhaps the farthest I’ve come in terms of spiritual and artistic growth.

To being twenty-two, when I have never felt more myself.