It Used To Be So Simple Then

I feel like a stranger in my own skin. I lost the rhythm and I might have lost the drive, too. But I’ve been meaning to face the blank page once and for all and I have to say that it took a lot of guts to even begin a sentence. So, I’m thinking baby steps.

As far as I can remember, even before my Choose Your Own Adventure days, I have always wanted to write. Doogie Howser, the father of blogging, I think, inspired me to keep a daily journal. Okay, it was more like a yearly thing. Okay, fine, it was more like an if-I’m-in-the-mood kind of journal. Like Clockwork Orange is already a feat if you really think about my writing habits.

I reached 30 last May 4 and it was a slow climb to midlife. I think I’ve reached a plateau so I’ll use this time to get ready to ascend my peak (big thanks to my life coach for the optimism.)

So yeah, the secret is out. I’m 30. I might as well be dead. Let me see a show of hands, who of you here has reached this age and thought that we are merely kids in wrinkly skin and bad arthritis and that, more than ever, we are more accountable with our actions because apparently, we are ‘adults’? For example, a naked 3-year old kid in public is funny and cute whereas a naked 30 year old man in public is asking for jail time or the straitjacket.

I miss the days when I answered to a teacher and not to a boss, when I received allowances and not salaries, when problems were limited to maths and not life goals. But I’m happy at the moment and unless you’re starving or stuck under rubble, you really can’t complain.

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