As I pedal my bike on my way to work, I can feel the sweat sliding down the side of my face. I can also feel the snot winding its way down my nose, as it was a cold morning that day. I struggle with my breathing; I haven’t biked to work in quite some time. I told my beating heart to steady itself, lest I would collapse from the exercise itself. After quite some time, I have found my rhythm and biking became easier as I got nearer to the office.
On my way back home, the ride was easier as the road goes downhill. I feel the scream of the night’s wind in my ear; relishing the freedom that biking had given me the past few months. As I rode the bike, I thought that after one in a half year in Bogota, I have finally found the one thing that keeps me grounded, biking. I am glad that I knew how to ride a bike.
And that is when it hits me, my dad had taught me how to ride a bike. Insist on it, might I add.
I turned 30 just short of one month ago, and honestly it hasn’t quite sink in yet. I feel like, it’s just the way of life, you know? That you got older as the year gone by, and that’s pretty much it. It is the nature of things that I don’t like being told what to do with my life. I hated it, still do actually. And maybe that’s why the idea of growing old never really quite hit me, because I refuse to acknowledge what it all means. But, maybe today that’s about to change.
Today is my baby brother’s 27th birthday. It’s crazy, it honestly is. Because to me, he’s still my baby brother, the one in diaper and the one I told that he was adopted growing up. When you grow up, you change. You become an entirely different person than who you used to be when you were younger. I like to think I didn’t change at all from when I was younger, and to some extent it is true, but looking at how much my brother had changed from when he was still drooling and in diaper, it brought my own life into perspective. But, I’m not here to tell you about my life’s stories (that’s for another time), I’m here to tell you a story of my baby brother, which I will call Lemon in this story. Don’t ask why.
Happy birthday to yours truly. I have reached peak adulthood (although I don’t feel close to being one, what else is new, right?). The big 3-0 is peak adulthood, because now that you’re 30 you don’t get to do stupid shit and get away with it like in your 20s. No, Sire, you will be held accountable, if not by society then by your own personal moral compass. After the 30s, comes the 40s where everything is just shit, especially if you’re a woman.
Well, hello there menopause. What was it that you say? I will not have my periods anymore? Oh well cheers, then! Wait, what? I must go through night sweats, hot flashes, trouble sleeping, moodiness, and be forgetful, just to name a few? Fuck you, menopause, and periods for that matter.
And don’t even get me started on being in your 50s, well because I don’t know.
Either way, I have hit the big 3-0 and all those heebie-jeebies sort of evaporated. It’s not to say I know what to do about my life like a good normal 30 year olds would be, but now I really don’t care (or at least, I try to care less).
You ain’t got your own house in your 30s? Fuck if I care.
You ain’t got no bajillion savings in your bank account after almost a decade being in the workforce? Fuck if I care.
Look, point is, there are a lot of things that’ll fuck me up big time if things don’t go right (according to society’s standards) for me. I could spend what little time I have left in this world worrying about it. I know this sounds naive, but I honestly am trying to just be content with I have and where I am today. Sure, there are lots of shitty things happening, but I could be the richest person alive and there’s always going to be at least one thing that is so shitty, it’ll fuck up my entire day. So, that’s fine. Life is supposed to fuck you up, big or small, depending on your karma, I presume.
Okay, that being said, this year’s turning of age is so bizarre. Years before, a month leading to my birthday I would have things prepared, from what I would and probably would not be doing, down to whose face I’m willing and not willing to see on my big day. This year, none of that occurs. Well, we can collectively blame it all on work and how it sucks. Without going to intimate details on why work is particularly suck this time of the year, I have reached the state of I-really-don’t-give-two-fucks and I’m curious what other shitty stuff the universe is going to throw at me to ruin my birthday now that I honestly have given up.
And this year I am turning 30 ffs! It’s a feat of its own that I really have given up altogether.
Dear Petty, you’re going to have tons of birthday wishes today, but none will be like mine. Ha! I’m not good with words nor with wishing people on their birthdays. It seems lame, my wishes that is. So, instead of lame ass wishes, I’m going to write (and post) this letter (turned blog post) to you. Here goes! Continue reading “Joyeux Anniversaire, Petty!”→