Today I woke up feeling apprehensive. I’m a year shy of hitting the big three-O and I feel like the forces are mocking me today; reminding me of those long-forgotten things I jotted in my to-do-list way back yesteryears.
Bold and ambitious, I used to dream about globe-trotting, having a job that won’t be confined to a desk but nonetheless earn enough to afford me a beat-up truck that would enable me and my one-eyed St. Bernard trips to countrysides. I could not wait to skydive, win at a casino, make love with a dashing young man on a hot air balloon, do all things outlandish–live the life.
With youth comes the gifts of vitality, idealism and ambition. But as the reality of life starts biting you past mid-life, one tends to gradually lose these. Work, bills, slowing metabolism, and adding up to the years submit one into an unremarkable routine of waking up to finish a day that would more or less repeat itself the next one. The best things have become catching up on sleep, a new release on Netflix, clocking out after a shift, finding a pair of old jeans with buttons that don’t unexpectedly pop and those rare alarm-less mornings.
And as I am one of the unfortunate species with a brain that reminds me of all the bad decisions I made in my life before I get any chance to fall into oblivion during the end of the day, I often get to think about the current life I am leading and question every single thing. I finally succumb to troubled sleeps with a resolve that I would do something extraordinary the next day but then wake up feeling uninspired. I guess I’m growing old. Or not.
Everyone around me seems to be having babies and growing toddlers while here I am wanting to get another puppy. That does not make me forget that ten or so years ago, I said to myself that if I turn 28 and I’m still single, I would Angelina Jolie a baby of my own. Today though, all I could think of is adopting a rescue dog or cat at the local shelter. Interesting how the years can change you.
I catch Pokemon and give them weird names. I share the bed with my husband and occasionally with our handful Kaidu when he decides the sheets are not as tasty as bacon. I have not started to eat more responsibly; our cupboards hold a full section of food that have the same nutritional value as that of a cardboard which we indulge in ever so often. I’ve reached the age when jammies feel sexier than cropped fitted tees, and my idea of a fun night is watching medieval war movies with a tub of Ben & Jerry’s. I guess I’m growing old. Or not.
Then there’s that guilty excitement of buying new cutlery. A house ware section beckons me more than a clothing department does. I like buying plates at the plate store. I like our salt shaker. I like the sound of our pepper grinder. My Amazon account boasts not of shoe purchases but dog tags and leashes. So adult.
But although I’ve been independent since I left the University, I still have that urge to look for Mama when stuff becomes unpleasant. I guess I’m growing old. Or not.
Now I’m thinking of that way overdue bungee-jump (times ten) and that spontaneous trip to Machu Picchu. If I wake up one of these days feeling less conventional, spontaneous and impulsive, things might start happening, again. And with newfound determination, I end this day. *snuffs candle out*