On Turning 29

What do you think of first when you hear the number 29? Take your time. In the meantime, I’ll go first.

 

So, I have this suuuper random memory of Fran Fine (Ya know, ✨the✨ Fran Fine from The Nanny?) saying she’s 29 for Idk how many years. I’m not even sure what scene I am referring to, or whether there’s an actual scene at all. It’s probably just a whole running gag in itself. Actually, I don’t even know what her on-screen age was supposed to be, but that’s beside the point. 

 

The point I’m trying to make here is that 29 is the last good age, you guys! I mean, not really, but this thought has cemented itself in my brain ever since. It’s no secret that society is ageist (lmao you’d have to be really fucking stooopid if you’re not aware of that), but that was like the first age-biased commentary I had encountered, or at least, vividly remembered, as a child. 

 

Obviously, I wasn’t actively dreading turning 29 all these years, now that would’ve been depressing. This only popped into my mind again because now, I am turning 29 soon (or already have, by the time I publish this post). And you know me. What else to do than write an excessively long blog post on my thoughts on the topic of aging?!

 

Signs I’m Worried About Getting Older
The questions related to aging I’ve been asking myself lately kinda go like this:

 

Why did I start caring about coloring my roots?
I had discovered my first gray hair at the ripe age of 16 (or was it 17?) years old. The worst part is, it had not even been discovered by me. A classmate pointed it out, ffs. By my mid-20s, I was buying hair dye on the regular. It’s my paternal genes, probably. Mixed in with stress, I think. 

 

Have I ever stopped caring about coloring my roots?
Yes and no? During the haydays of lockdown, I didn’t give a sh!t but I do catch myself checking the mirror more often as of late, to see when the next coloring sesh is due.

Why was I so adamant to get into TikTok last year?
Was it to keep in touch with the youth, aka the gen Z out there?

I mean, no. First and foremost, I wanted to get the hang of this social media platform for career reasons. But boy do I feel an embarrassing sense of pride when my tween cousins look at me in awe when they realize that I know a TikTok trend. 

 

Why did I suddenly increase my SPF usage?
Over the last year, I‘d wake up really late, look in the mirror, and ask myself: “Am I getting wrinkles, or am I just dehydrated?” Other times it would be “Am I getting wrinkles, or am I just angry?” 

 

What did I do that for? Why would I wake up and ask myself these things? Some relatives joke that I look like a ghost because of my abhorrence to sun exposure and loyalness to sunscreen (Disclaimer: I was never a fan of summer). I will laugh with them each time coz I (mostly) love jokes at my expense, but bruh, why do I care this much? Why do I insist on remaining pale, preferring that over looking like a fabulous, sun-kissed goddess? 

 

Is it because I am afraid of aging? But, why would I be? Why do I bother about wrinkles in the first place? Geeez, tysm, society.

 

Rationally, I know getting older is okay. Hell, it’s not only okay, it’s friggin’ normal. Dude, I want to age. The thought of getting (plastic) surgery of my free will, or injecting something under my skin terrifies me. I’d be too worried about possible side effects. I don’t want to change my physical appearance to such an extent, but, I do have this ‘never say never’ mentality at the back of my head. 

 

Do I feel like a complete and utter loser the older I get, and the less I’ve achieved?
To answer this honestly (and what you all wish for, quickly): Yes. You know that feeling when you hear about someone achieving X and Y and you’re like “cool”, but the minute you find out they are a day younger than you, your heart drops and you feel miserable?

 

No? Just me? Yeah, well, I do occasionally feel reminded of how old I am once I juxtapose it with how much or little I have accomplished in life. This accomplishment can be about anything, really. Inner child, interpersonal, or intellectual work, doesn’t matter. Basically whatever area you feel like you are (severely) lacking. Sometimes, I feel like I have made steps backward as opposed to forward.

 

For the most part, I’m just existing lately. And by lately, I mean the past decade. Apart from getting two degrees I didn’t really need whatsoever (I am fighting the urge to say “useless” because education is never useless IMO), what the f*ck have I done?

 

I am not in a relationship.
I don’t have my own place.
I don’t have a stable job.
To be frank, I don’t know what I want to do with my life.

 

All of these scare me. On some days more, on some days less, but deep down, my lack of society-approved “achievements” scare the bejeezus out of me. I find this so hard to admit sometimes. BUT OH LOL, CAT’S OUT OF THE BAG NOW, HUH?

 

Why did I put the relationship one first? Geez, thanks once again, society. I would genuinely describe myself as happy(ish) on my own, but the constant confrontation is nagging at you after all. This one time, my cousin’s tween daughters asked about my age. Once they figured it out they looked at me in shock and said, “Aren’t you supposed to be married and have kids at that age? ” Ugh, kids, man. But wait, are they on to something? Am I scared I am gonna be alone forever?

 

I’m losing track, someone please stop me before this turns into a pity party for one. Also, why do I write all these questions, lmao, who do I think I am, Carrie Bradshaw? Change of plans, let’s look at the bright side next. 

 

Signs I’m Not Worried About Getting Older

 

Aging isn’t all worrisome. (right..?) Even though aging terrifies me (sometimes), at the same time, I can’t wait to get older. I will tell you why.

 

I’m Giving Fewer Shits Than Ever Before.
The best thing about getting older for me is that I no longer care about what other people think of me. Wait, that’s a lie. It’s more like, I now care less about what other people think of me. Don’t get me wrong, I am anxious to the core and worry about the dumbest things, but they’re internal. Most of that comes from me. Me and my silly, goofy, overanalyzing brain. (Does that make sense?) The source of my worries is, for the most part, no longer stemming from how others perceive me, and I fucking love that. Fingers crossed I will eventually give zero f*cks.

 

There’s More Memories.
Another cool thing about getting older is that you have more stories to tell. Even if you don’t do shit and lead a pretty mundane and uneventful life. You sit around, sleep till noon, eat cornflakes or toast with tuna and mayo? So what, at least you got like 2343 memories of that episode.

 

OK I didn’t really sell this one as a GOOD thing but I think it’s cool to be like, oh wow, remember back in the early 2000s when we did X and Y? Like holy shit, I’ve been on this earth for SO long, I can look back on past decades and realize how ancient I am. OK, still didn’t sell this one. I’ll try something else.

 

There’s Proof I’ve Lived on This Earth.
For real, there’s like, actual proof I was here. It’s all on me. My body. My mind. As well as on the things I have touched and created. I have grown. In fat mass. In stretch marks. In opinions. In intelligence. In life experience. Even if I often don’t acknowledge some of these enough.

This is why growing old is fine. I want to be like fine wine, quenching your thirst. 

 

Enough for now. I’m gonna live the last year of my 20s to the fullest. Jk, I’ll probably spend it like most of my 20s. I’m just not afraid of what’s to come. Or at least try not to be. Y’know, not caring comes naturally to me, just a side-effect from turning increasingly bitter the older you get. Kidding again. Can’t wait to be an old bum. I’ve read somewhere that the 30s are your new 20s? Jesus f**king Christ, I hope not. Who wants that? I know I don’t. Surely they have to be better.