Next week I turn 21. I have so far managed to convince my family that I do not want a birthday party.
No yard glasses, no speeches, no rented-out community halls.
Mostly, I don't want a birthday party because I absolutely do not want to go through the routine humiliation that seems to be the 21st tradition.
There are more than enough embarrassing photographs and stories about me floating around, and I certainly don't need them to be all grouped together and thrown up on a projector for everyone to see.
This got me to thinking, why is it that we like to embarrass people when they reach an age that no longer holds any real legal significance in New Zealand?
Is this something that only happens in New Zealand, or is the torment international?
Maybe some people consider it to be a part of growing up.
If you survive your 21st then you're going to be just fine in the real world, something like that.
I decided to do a little bit of research.
While the internet doesn't seem to hold any answers about soul-destroying birthday speeches, it does suggest that the 21st birthday is so significant because it signifies a final and absolute coming of age and accepting of responsibilities.
Maybe because one is old enough to do whatever one wants one has to finally own up to hiding an entire term's worth of Marmite sandwiches behind one's dresser.
It's all a part of growing up.
Wikipedia tells me that in Australia and New Zealand alcohol is the biggest player in our traditional practices.
Presumably, if someone manages to finish a yardie then they are going to be so drunk that they will inevitably do something to humiliate themselves.
From this, I gather that anything you do past the age of 21 cannot be considered embarrassing, because no-one is going to make a ritually sanctified speech about it at a coming-of-age party.
You're done and dusted.
Everything you do from this point on is terribly adult, noble and worthy.
As I've been giving this quite a lot of thought, I wondered if perhaps turning 21 is now worse than ever.
Now young people have computers and cell-phones.
Everything we own has the capacity to be a camera and a social media nightmare.
Embarrassing photos showing up where you don't want them has become something of a given, but the photos that you take of yourself at age 13 are even worse.
I lie awake in bed at night sweating over the thought of any selfie of myself at 13 ever surfacing in the public sphere.
I genuinely don't know if I could handle the torment.
I can see myself now, tipping off my set, my cheeks a curious combination of puce and blue, my eyes glazed over, steam rising from my ears.
My little brother would love it; he'd never let it go.
I might have to beg my parents to keep him away from any elderly software devices. He's the only one who would know how to access them, anyway.
Probably, I am being a baby.
Millions have been through it before me and millions will go through it after me.
I cling to the hope that maybe I wasn't so embarrassing after all, and I was just a nice, placid, normal child, who never put a toe out of line.
This is not an idea that I have very much faith in.
With any luck, I will make it through the evening of my 21st birthday and will slip out the other side a proper adult, impervious to social anxiety.
- Millie Lovelock is a Dunedin student.
