I’m 24. A few short weeks from turning 25. 25 is a great age, supposedly. You can either have a quarter-life crisis and be more prepared for one that should occur 25 years later, presumably, or you’re more grounded than ever and feel like life is moving right along with you.

Or, you can visit the family elders time and again and be bombarded with business cards of young dentists and opthamologists who have no idea who you are but would welcome a chance to meet you b/c clearly their mothers know better than they do what kind of woman suits their needs.

That’s a mouthful, huh?

I don’t know about you, but I take pleasure in feeling comfortable by myself doing whatever I damn well please without worrying about whether someone else is ok with it. And, in most relationships, someone wants to hold the reigns. The theory behind equality is that we're equally allowed to live idealistically and pretend that we (either gender) wear the pants. The reality behind equality is that both parties want to. Hence, equality is a non-existent entity. Sigh.

That’s why we left home. That’s why elite societies REALLY created the higher academia way back when. College is the most logical step towards maturity not because you learn to articulate yourself better, or because you become mathematically adept and can consider your place on Wall Street. Oh no. College was invented b/c if you lived at home any longer your parents would rip your face off with the very same grapefruit spoon you probably threatened to kill yourself with whenever you didn’t get your way. Or maybe you thought you were going through some sort of manic depression. If in fact you were, no offense.

Don’t stamp your feet in protest, little ‘uns. Sure, you learned something in college. You learned to say "No" "I don’t agree" "I don’t wanna" and "fuck you" without ever getting grounded. Congratulations.

And now you have the ability to speak your mind, probably enough so that you scare away any potential partners. At least, that’s what your family tells you. "Can’t you ease up on the activism thing for a bit, honey? That nice young man might get scared away."

I was lucky. My parents never give me that kind of garbage. But all my friends’ parents do so I live vicariously. Clearly my parents don’t love me if they feel comfortable with roughly 40% of the decisions I make and still want me to come home and visit.

I’m a star. And I’m going to shine.

At least that’s what I tell myself when yet another business card is slipped into my pocket by another eager auntie…

What’s ironic is that at a young age we didn’t give a hogs’ lip about going to family functions and attending gramma’s 60th birthday. And why? Because we knew back then how these events would manifest themselves over time. Back when we were toddling and drooling from all the wrong orifices, we were keen to play in a sandbox and practice doctor. Who needed to "get to know one another?" You had private parts, I had private parts. Even then we were more pragmatic about relationships. But all the while the elders are watching us…making bets on future unions…teasing us with playtime and then ripping our hearts to pieces when it was over.

And what happens? We mature and begin to feel some sort of connection with family and yearn for the closeness only they can give us. Foolishly we attend grandma’s 80th birthday…and instead of learning about how she used to sew her own knickers or those of a war soldier we get seated at the singles table. It’s a vicious cycle. You think The Man is bad (think Ray Bradbury and what’s his face). He’s got nothing on The Elder.

Tatiana