22 is the year of catch-up’s. It’s the year G graduates and I spend the first week of the second half missing him. 22 is too old to make friends, but not too old to find old friends. I rekindle friendships, find new lunch/study buddies, step out of my bubble.
22 is the year I have my first taste of corporate life and find that I actually like it. It’s the year I end my internship and G starts on his first job, a short getaway in between, the last summer for awhile. I look towards the CBD from school and find myself looking forward, wanting to catch up with G.
22 is the year I reconnect with old friends with whom I’ve lost touch. Social media doesn’t really allow you to lose touch completely, but browsing through pictures of familiar faces isn’t quite the same as a “Hello, how have you been?”. We drop the arrogance of neverending tomorrow’s and make time to meet up for a drink, a hug, a “I missed you too”.
22 is the year before the future. In the future we’ll all be holding real jobs, driving our own cars, wearing wedding bands and living in new flats. In the future we will still be the kids we are today, goofy and corny, laughing about those nights we spend sharing our hopes and worries about this future that we will be living.
22 is a good, good year.
