A DAY IN THE LIFE

Everybody dreads reaching the age of thirty— that rite of passage that marks the time that we are nearing expulsion from the Roman Calendar. We usually see it as a confirmation that we are indeed getting old. For most of us, it tells us that time is ticking. Wait, let me rephrase that: It tells us that our time is running out.

It’s funny how we will desperately cling to being twenty-nine until the very last minute. It is the last year of embracing youthful hopes and the first year of resigning to middle age. It doesn’t matter if you’re rich or poor— whether you like it or not, you will get down and thirty. Hehehe.

Okay, getting old is a big deal but it is something inevitable so why make a fuss out of it? We usually tease older people about their age but we are aware that we are also getting old. A case of too-bad-they-got-there-first? Well, a few years from now, today’s little brats will start teasing you, too. Bah! At least I look younger than a lot of those in their early 20s thanks to my oily skin. Hahaha! So what is it about reaching thirty (or getting old in general)? I think it is because of the fact that getting old constantly (and harshly) reminds us of all the should haves, would haves and could haves. The ghost of the past, the bridge that didn’t burn, those skeletons still hanging in the closet— these are the things that hold us back, that make us cling. Let us all admit that if everything in our past turned out the way we wanted it to be then we will have no problem embracing the concept of getting old.

I am turning thirty a few hours from now and I’ve been asking myself the same questions these past few days. Have I done anything that I really wanted in the thirty years that have passed? Did I make more right decisions than the wrong ones? What am I going to do in the next thirty years?

A wise man once said, “Don’t count your years. Make your years count.”

Now if I can just do that… I believe I’ll be stuck at twenty-nine.

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