The Debutante

Forty days until my eighteenth birthday. If the aforesaid was in audio, it would be a high-pitched and moderately deafening and maybe a little maddening expression of “EIGHTEENTH BIRTHDAY”. Yes, I am legitimately, technically and literally turning eighteen years old. What’s the big deal about becoming eighteen? Well, I’m technically legit to drink alcohol, smoke cancer sticks, and party. I know some people who at their eighteenth birthday, put on their finest and maybe the most expensive party LBD and heels, dashes to Smallville and spend the entire night getting all intoxicated, hopping with likewise wasted Korean guys (who can barely dance) and go home dropping, with hair and make-up all in the wrong places. They totally look skyrocketed. That was their definition of “fun”.












Forty days until my eighteenth birthday. On that time lapse, other girls might be browsing some magazines for the perfect debut dress, looking for hotels for a location on where to throw the party of their coming of age. Some maybe jotting down plans for the eighteen things, eighteen candles, eighteen roses and the grand cotillion dance. Some may be making a wish list of the things they would love to collect in their birthdays. But not for me.


Forty days until my birthday. It’s time for reality check. How did I do after all these years? Was I living a life? Was I living my life to the fullest? How come I just let opportunities pass? How come did I not exert that much effort on my schoolwork? I tend to forgot important things when they should be learned by heart and how do I explain to myself my low self esteem that deter me from getting stuff done? Why is there a part of me that feels lost, unfulfilled and overwhelmed? I know I could do so much better. I know I could be something. But where am I? Who am I?


Forty days until my birthday. I decide, today, uhm, Sunday, April 18, 2010, I want to see if I could challenge myself, reinvent myself, and rethink my mission. Forty days seem to be enough to tune into myself and admit myself into a get-my-mojo-back program. I plan to completely reinvent my self – not just my face, hair, body but my entire out-of-whack life. I’m taking the time for an internal make-over and make it a lifelong project. I know I will be putting giant steps toward putting this mission to action but as long as I know by heart that I really need this, I will and can do this. After all, keeping my word is the first on my list.


Who do I want to be? What will it take for me to become that person?






Where to now, Kate?







Coming of age is not just a silly one night ball for me. It’s not the cotillion, the beautiful flowers, the gifts, that slow dance or being the most beautiful lady for the night that matters. Coming of age is the time that I could tell to myself with all sincerity that I’m ready to confront whatever test the world will put upon me. The purpose of life after all is to live it, to taste experience to the utmost, to reach out eagerly and without fear for newer and richer experience.








After forty days, that would be my REAL debut to a new world. It wouldn't be easy but it would be worth it.