El Che survived another 9 brilliant years of revolutionary struggle after he was 30, before he was shot 9 times and died a heroic death. Lennon topped him by one year, made it in time to came up with songs like “Imagine” and “Give Peace A Chance” before he met his end, gave the phrase ”Life Begins At 40″ a whole twisted meaning. Well, some of the other icons like Jimi Hendrix or Morrison did not even reached 30, but were of course sorely missed by their fans. You must be thinking why am I yakking about these super iconic figures who either passed the age of 30 as legends or those who did not cut it at all but still, legendary in their own ways. Well, today I am 30. I am not legendary yesterday nor am I legendary today. Let’s not talk about tomorrow or else, I might be anxious with the whole I-will-never-be-legendary pattern I am seeing at the moment.
Unlike the previous years where I would be busy planning parties days before my birthday, the last few days was spent admiring my torn dirty Converse shoes and t-shirts with huge silly statements because I was trying to recreate my 30 year old image. I am 30 with a kid, single and has a mouth that does its own thinking, Converse would seemed too…. young. Some of the time in the last few days, were also spent scrutinizing my distorted hourglass figure in the mirror, thinking where else in the whole territory of my body, would my future fats be hiding as I don’t see anymore available space.
In short, I was making myself miserable come 30. I self-victimized and willfully succumbed to the pre-conceived notion that 30 means entering the boring, un-hot matured realm of womanhood and I only owned a pair of high heels, for God’s sake. Am I ready for this? Can I cope with the social expectation of how a 30 year old should behaved? Correction, how would a 30 year old act, by the way?
Until I realized that I had forgotten how to embrace life as it is. I am 30, so? I am still not a tycoon or owns a body that matches Beyonce’s. I am the same person yesterday, today and tomorrow. My anxiety that I might not achieved enough at this point of age has affected my regular dose of optimism.Until someone reminded me that all these do not matter because what matters the most is who you are as a person, be it at 30 or 60. Well, this is a pretty ordinary over-used statement, conjured perhaps to motivate some obese or ugly individuals about the importance of giving inner beauty a chance.
Kidding.
It might be a tiring cliche, but it is an accepted truth that we tend to overlook in the course of our daily life. Factors like age, size or social standing sometimes stripped us from our real selves. Thanks, doc for reminding me that.
So, there was no cake today. No parties. It was just like any other day in my life.
Hence, to another unfolding episode of my life, let’s kick more ass at 30!
