Every Halloween, I am hallowed up one more year. (I like making up new phrasal verbs that nobody is going to understand anyway.)

A whole quarter century now! I got a text message from Amoena, congratulating me on being old. Aww. Grandma appreciates your remembering me!

I’ve read in several sources that at 25, the human brain is finally completely mature. So I expected all the secrets of the universe to finally open up to me. Suddenly I would understand everything much better. You know, in a mature way.

But guess what? I don’t feel any different than yesterday! I want my money back!!!

Well, the good thing about being 25 is that it’s easy to remember your age. Halfway between 20 and 30. I could never remember whether I was 20, 21, 22, 23, or 24! Those ages are somehow devoid of any special meaning, so how could you remember? And why should you?

I’m yadda yaddaing about this because I hate this painting. Nothing to say about it. Except that when my mum got it framed, the girl who runs the shop said that it’s her favourite.

(Click to enlarge)

It’s modelled on Morena Baccarin as Inara from Firefly (a scifi tv series a few years back):

She’s so beautiful. In my painting, she is not so beautiful. Dash.