Technically my birthday was on the 17th, so this would be considered a rather belated congratulatory greeting to myself. But I spent most of that day without any form of connection to The Internets anyway, or any motivation to do anything whatsoever for that matter. This being the quarter-century mark of my life, I haven't a clue whether this is a good or a bad omen of things to come.
According To Anime, this age is when I would, if I were a woman (instead of being a member of Fanboius creepius), have but one more birthday to go before I am supposedly discarded, like the Christmas cake the trope gains its name from. Now, I am not certain precisely why this rule applies only to women and not men, but anime tends to focus more on the younger set of characters anyway, what with the whole Target Demographic and such. And with the professed focus of this particular blog, the characters being focused on (occasionally with high-speed cameras) are very young indeed.
My sister, one year older than I am, was married at this time last year, thus neatly avoiding the trope. I have yet to develop a social life robust enough to encompass at least one female acquaintance who understands, if not shares, my hobby. Considering the nature of the specifics of this hobby, I fear that it will be a long time yet, and will have to go through the unfortunate fact that for all my enthusiasm for moe~ and loli-ness, for actual theoretical romantic purposes, I kind of lean towards older women.
But we live in the Century of the Fruitbat New Millenium, and it is a sign of Moving Times that one may be happily single, largely through not thinking about it too much. The Media tends to emphasize how every normal right-thinking person desires a happy family life, which might be a skewed observation on my part from too many harem anime.
It should probably be of some concern to me that not only do I not know what I want to do with my life at age twenty-five, but also that I persist in thinking of myself as but a mere age sixteen and thus prone to mild surprise when being addressed as "sir" or "mister" instead of "kid" or "boy" or "hey, you". The demands for identification when buying alcoholic beverages even in Singapore (whereby the drinking age, officially, is age eighteen) may have something to do with this; apparently I still look like a high-school student to the casual eye. I should use this fact to my advantage, assuming I know how.