UNTIL THE THIRTIES HIT

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Who wouldn’t be excited about birthdays unless it’s someone entering their dreaded 30s? Even those who do not celebrate their birthdays lavishly keep looking forward to it secretly. But as for me, I had the most boring birthdays ever as a child because it always fell on the winter vacations. Sigh! I would feel missed out on all the celebrations that other students used to have at school. Imagine getting to come to school in “colour dress” and standing out among the thousands of students in monotonous shades of blue and white. Wow. And going around classes and meeting friends to distribute candies! That must feel awesome. Sometimes, teachers would gift their favourite students with pens or other stationery.


Birthdays weren’t a big deal at home, and they were just like any other day. A few friends would show up; we would cut cake, go out for snacks and be back religiously before 8 pm. Otherwise, amma would strip our skins off. Birthdays, her foot! As if it mattered more than returning home on time. But looking back, I see they were some of the greatest joys of life. My friends being scared of my mother and dropping me off on time still makes me wonder how much my relationship dynamics have changed now with my mother for the better. 


I did not know birthdays could be fun until I met my husband, who ensures to make it a special day every time. He gets more excited about my birthdays than me and prepares elaborate itineraries in advance. It’s our escape from our routine lives where we move about like robots in perfect synchrony each day. But life is always about changes. The celebrations used to feel amazing in my twenties. And when suddenly it was time for me to hit thirty, I started feeling the jits. 



I felt exactly like Joey as I hit thirty because I knew life wouldn’t be the same anymore. People had always warned me about the thirties as if it were a predator waiting round the corner in the dark for you. I couldn’t sleep peacefully for a few days as I felt no longer younger. I could imagine all the questions our relatives would throw at us if we met them. Your clock is ticking, and it’s almost time, they would say. Where are my grandkids yet? My parents' and in-laws' voices boomed in my ears. Before thirty-five or you’re doomed, my friends knew how to make me nervous. But what about settling in life? My own voice betrayed me sometimes. Because I always thought I would have sorted life out by my twenties and would be living comfortably in my thirties—all daydreams.


I told my husband that we would not celebrate my thirtieth birthday as I didn’t feel like it. But he insisted because our celebrations were all about hitting that weekend gateway with a few gifts, and missing that would mean missing another chance to sanity. So I agreed along. It’s funny how, as kids, we always want to act like adults in their thirties, but when we turn one, it becomes difficult to accept the reality. But slowly, as time kept hopping from 30 to 31 and then to 32 and a little closer to 33, I realised it wasn’t as bad as I had imagined. Yes, my back ache has worsened, and my sleep schedule is screwed up. But that’s about it. 


I still become elated when visiting my parents; I still jump up in joy when India wins a match; I still enjoy taking long walks on the beach on weekends; I still love multitasking between work, cooking, driving, reading and writing, the same as in my twenties. In addition, my outlook on life has also improved a lot. I don’t see things the same way I did in my twenties. I don’t lose my temper over minor issues anymore. I let go of those who were hurting me for a long while. I have cut off relationships for good and made new ones that would last. I have learned to answer complex questions thrown at me and give it back to people who deserve it.


I finally realised that the peace in my thirties is unlike the chaos in my twenties and the utter spectacle of my teenage years. I am still grateful for those years because I wouldn’t be who I am without those beautiful years. But all I want to say is that I have embraced my thirties, and it isn’t as bad as I had imagined. Now, next up, the forties, sooner or later.



On this note, wishing Blogchatter a very happy 9th anniversary. I am grateful for all the shared memories we have. To many more to come. 


This post is a part of #BlogchatterBloghop

#penbooksandscalpel

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