February is ending soon. Well like, today. And I could not possibly let it end this year without writing about turning another year older as I do every time.
From the 4th of this month on, I’m in my 30-s. Every year of my previous birthdays, I apathetically would say things like age is just a number, or “Hey, I just turned 18 again..” or something else that implied the same meaning. As if getting old is a bad thing or so undesirable to the point that I had to deny that I’m actually older. Well, I am 30 years old. I’m going to take pride at being older. And this not denial talking, this is a woman who has passed all her silly insecurities, immaturity and bitter-ish phase. Well, hopefully!
You know, just few weeks before my birthday, I thought I wanted a big celebration. Fancy place, huge cake, balloons and the whole shebang. How freakin’ shallow was I, right? Until I finally realized that no, turning 30 isn’t just about me. As much as my family and friends wanted to celebrate me, I wanted to celebrate them too. People like my parents who gave me life and life alone is what I owe to them. People like my family who unconditionally love me no matter what kind of crap person I could be. People like my friends who literally make my life awesome as it is.
And of course, when you’re this old (man I hope I don’t sound like some 70 year old), what is there to celebrate? It’s time to reflect instead, whether I have served or devoted thoroughly as I supposed to be to my Creator? Reflect whether have I done my duty as a child to my parents, as the older I become the more deeds they’ve done for me? I’m sure I haven’t done both fully and on my 30th, I vouch to.
Hopefully from 30 onwards, I will do. And still, 3 balloons with an ugly cake I baked myself were totally necessary. Because that’s exactly how I spent my 30th birthday – by letting someone else who apparently more excited about me turning 30 blow the candles.