Whassup being 30?

Do I sound HIP?

I believed that this is the last time that this blog is ever going to mention about numbers, birthdays, age or as a matter of fact, everything and anything that has got to do with the disclose of the blogger’s age. Subsequent birthdays will be celebrated in a discreet manner with no guest invited, no cake, no present (unless it is from Kevin), no days off to be taken from work and no one is permitted to breathe a word that screamed “Hhhhhaaaa----”.

Actually, being 30 isn’t as shitty and ruinous (i.e. end of the world) as many would have imagined. Not that I am trying portray that being 30 means voguish or oh-you-are-still-beautiful, or life-has-just-begun (hate this most, does that mean that the past 29 years are invalid?).

And well, of course there are millions of reasons why I truly missed about being 20s and that includes revealing my age without qualms in front of those whom I barely know, often with the evil intention to wow new colleagues and boast self-confident. All in all, what I like best about being 20s is having no commitment, no responsibilities to anyone and anything. Alas, no one can turn back time, and the only thing that I can do that is within my control is to maintain, maintain and maintain my outlook, stay stress-free and remember to smell the roses. Having said that, it probably elucidate on why coffee-shop beer aunties develop penchant for Jolin Tsai inspired outfits, with undying effort to just to look youthful. I don’t even want to think about what I will be togged up in when I reach their age.

Back to the part that being-30-is-not-end-of-the-day, I need to be truthful and unbiased about this. I have to admit that people tend to work hard during their 20s and it is only that during their 30s where they will get to enjoy a bit of what they have worked hard for. For instance, I worked hard on building relationship with my bf then, who is now my hubby. I worked hard to stay awake to take care of my son who is now more or less independent, I worked hard to earn moolah so that today I can afford to have my own house and I worked hard to save out of my stipend to buy the stuff that it would be impossible for me to buy if I am just 20.

To console myself further, 20s is often the age whereby people just don’t treat you seriously, even the sales associate at Hermes is not even thrilled to trail you in the boutique, property agents will assumed that you entered the private property show flat out of inquisitiveness or you simply passed by to take a peep, you will be pass off as a person who desires cheap thrill to test drive the cars when you entered an auto showroom to a continental car dealer. The moment when you reach your 30s (or close to 30s), it is just like having a kind-hearted angel that waved her wand, all of a sudden, you become physically visible to everyone in the world and you look like a potential buyer of everything under the sun, even students with donation tins will run after for you and it is this time that people start to entertain you whether they like it or not. Just recently, I had an ardent Hermes SA who brought me around the boutique, showing me 101 ways of wearing a particular scarf that I briefly laid my fingers on to touch the material. And well, being 30s gives you the permission of not buying anything even after a lengthy conversation and promotion, and I can even walk out of the boutique and still having the SA being all jolly and bided me goodbye and she seemed absolutely sure that she will see me again.

So now, am I happy with being 30?

Well, do I have a choice?

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So as for my present for being 30? Nothing beats having the 2 Hengs (Kevin and Ziv) around me when I pathetically blow out the 30 candles on my cake! Maybe if a present needs to be something tangible, then that should be none other than the new abode which marked my achievement for the whole of 20s.

Happy 30 Birthday to myself this coming Sunday!