I also want to know what people eat. No, really, I am genuinely interested. Tell me, if you could have anything to eat right now what would it be?…a plate of spaghetti and meatballs? I hear you. What’s your favourite toast topping?…raspberry jam, interesting. With butter? What did your grandmother make at Christmas gatherings?… jelly slice? Cool.
People and food make me happy. As do writing and cooking. It’s nice when you know what makes you happy, and you can create a life that is full of your particular brand of happy. Everyone has a different definition and realising this can take time. As a twenty-two-year-old you have four jobs: to stay up past 11pm, to drink cheap beer, to think pensively on all of life’s question and to figure out your happy. I failed at the first task, I only drank cheap beer with pizza or curry (though I could down cheap wine with embarrassing ease), and I only sometimes thought on life’s questions because honestly, how can I possibly ponder what happens when we die without going mad/stopping everything boring immediately/quit giving Optus my money because WHAT’S THE POINT?!! Instead I chose to debate in which country I would spend my summer-job cash, because travel made me happy. And I’d go and do just that, returning with a tan and one too many pairs of Thai fisherman pants (and I only bought one). That’s what you do in your twenties, you figure out what you want out of life. Or at least what you don’t want. You also learn that Thai fisherman pants don’t suit anyone.