36

I’m now 36 years old. This seems a rather large number for someone who talks to soft toys and can neither ride a bicycle nor swim, but there’s no getting away from it. I’m old, I’ve used floppy disks and, despite insisting I would never do such an auntie thing, I now exclaim over how big children have grown because, oh my God, they really have and what a child thinks of as their whole long life is, to me, only about three income tax filing cycles.

This year’s birthday was spent in Melbourne, away from family but with friends old and new. Both my best friends from secondary school now live in this city, and we got to meet up on Saturday morning. While browsing in a shop one of them said, “Kiki, what do you think of this?”

Kiki is my oldest nickname. I am Kiki to my family, my parents’ friends who knew me from infancy, and very old friends like these ones. Today, my husband Calum calls me “Kirst”, which means my in-laws call me that too, and a new ‘generation’ of friends have followed suit.

Both nicknames are intrinsic parts of me, but between Kiki and Kirst have been years of change and challenge. I have become what I’ve wanted to be since I was a child. I have also become what I never have imagined I could be.

It’s a mess, hard to put into words. Looking back on the past few years, I feel like I’ve acquired both grit and the most fragile state of mental health I’ve ever had. The shifts crept up on me; the realisation came crashing in. 

I was struggling to fall asleep on the flight over to Australia, but didn’t feel like watching or reading anything, so mostly just listened to music. Not for the first time, I marvelled at how much my music tastes have changed over a few years. Kirsten at 26 did not listen to anything with rap in it, and gravitated towards indie, acoustic singer-songwriters. I still appreciate those songs, but they don’t scratch my brain in the way I need music to anymore. K-pop, something I never paid attention to five years ago, now dominates my playlists by a large margin (it’s actually a struggle to get the algorithms to recommend me something that isn’t K-pop these days). I suspect this drastic change in my musical diet signals something quite significant about mental states and an ongoing search for dopamine and sources of escapism, motivation and positivity.

Are these good changes? I have zero regrets about my sharp pivot towards K-pop, but can’t make up my mind about the rest. I guess I don’t have to decide; regardless of my conclusions, I’ll have to live with all of it anyway. In any case, it feels like I’m on the cusp of change again. 

Back to that reunion with my high school buddies. We caught up on one another’s lives while inhaling pork belly rice bowls—changing jobs, moving house, toddler (my God, she’s grown) potty-training progress, how we can no longer seem to pull all-nighters and have developed unexpected fixations with household appliances. We talked about burn-out and trying to find things that work for where we are in life. I told them briefly about my variety of stressors and how tired I am. “Maybe it’s time for a fresh start,” they suggested. They’re probably right. But what would a fresh start look like? A new environment? A career change? Three more cats and 2,000 more plushies? (Would that last one even count as a change, or would I just be doubling down?)

I’m completing my 36th trip around the sun at a very uncertain time, not just for myself but also for the rest of the world. There’s so much pain and tragedy everywhere and the US has just re-elected the world’s most toxic orange to the presidency, an act that will have disastrous consequences for so many people both in that country and around the world. I’ve started questioning my identity and value as a journalist, feeling more disillusioned with this label and profession than I’ve ever been before. I’m not really sure what my next move should be; sometimes I even wonder if stubbornly clinging on to this life and this work might be an act of self-harm.

I’m going to have to answer some hard questions in my 37th year. It’s probably going to suck and I’m probably going to accumulate many more emotional support purchases instead of saving for retirement. Still, I’m blessed in so many ways. Since arriving in Melbourne there hasn’t been a moment I haven’t been surrounded by good people, every single one amazing. I have comrades back home I know I can trust and lean on, even though I often feel sorry I can’t do more to share their labours and burdens. I have friends who care and who will be there for me whenever I need to vent or just have company. I have a family who are supportive in their own ways, and most importantly a husband who has stuck in my corner and kept me going even (especially) during the periods I felt most like quitting. The future might be tough, but I won’t be moving towards it alone. That counts for a lot.

Today I had a comforting day of indulgent shopping and only listening to Stray Kids on my AirPods. I purchased a bunch of makeup (I bought a contour stick for the first time in my life!) and a couple of dresses to supplement my travel wardrobe, because, for some reason, I’d only packed oversized T-shirts, oversized hoodies and three varieties of black tank tops, so I needed stuff that wouldn’t make me look like I’d have to be carded even to go to the movies. (The birthday shopping excursion was cut short after this because [1] I remembered that I don’t have much patience for shopping in physical stores and [2] I caught a glimpse of my account balance while paying for my dresses.) In the evening I had a lovely, very filling dinner with friends, capped with gelato from a place that, according to the promo video in their shop, raises and milks their own gelato cows. It was a much-needed day of rest from a life that has, especially in recent years, been filled with so much stress and anxiety and overwhelm. It recharged my batteries, so I can wake up and head back into work tomorrow.

Here comes my 37th year. I don’t want to tempt fate by saying “bring it on”. So I guess I’ll just say “hello”.

~ vibes ~

“Oh yeah, we’re not gonna die young!”

Did I jump around the room to GET LIT while getting dressed this morning? The answer is “yes”. This song is a banger and I fucking love it.