Usually when I wake up on my birthday I feel exactly the same as the day before. Not any older, not any wiser. This year was a little different; my raging hangover was a stark reminder that I’m definitely getting on. Apparently, gone are the days when a morning Gatorade solves all ills.
My college had a Heaven and Hell Bop on the Friday evening, so when the clock struck midnight I turned into a 24 year old tequila-shotting pumpkin in a Hieronymus Bosch-meets-geriatric ward scene (equal parts people in devil horns/macabre face-paint/neon wifebeaters and those in white gowns/cupid diapers/cotton ball cloud costumes). Yikes.
Anyway, although I suffered for it Saturday morning, I had a perfect Oxford birthday (at least post brunch and catnap). I had a joint party with a guy from college who shares my birthday, the ongoing joke being that we are long-lost twins. If only we’d discovered our twinship in a dramatic summer camp fencing unmasking à la The Parent Trap (and not just on FB)!
When I think about the chances of 2 people born 17000 km apart on the same day ending up at the same college, doing the same course at Oxford at the same time, it’s a neat coincidence. Celebrating my birthday with an amazing group of friends was a big reminder of how lucky I am to be here, and the serendipity which brought us all together.