The countdown to 30!

So today, I started the countdown to 30. Four months. That seems like very little time to scramble to fulfill life goals that I can do in my twenties. All those articles of 20 things to do in your 20s or whatever, all of them are vividly clear in my head. I am active on Snapchat, trolling Tinder, going to Goa for the weekend, making spontaneous trips to Singapore to meet friends, bunking work because I don’t feel like working, having a friendly relationship with my boss and not having that weird awkward gap between your boss and you (not that this takes away from the utter respect I have for him), sharing all kinds of crap on Facebook, being active on Whatsapp groups, making drinking plans with friends on the fly, avoiding family on festivals, taking solo vacations with my dog, eating pizza for breakfast, breakfast for dinner, spontaneous shopping (like at least Rs. 5,000 worth) and not having a panic attack later, basically crossing off everything I think 20 somethings should be doing. I even drank alcohol on a Tuesday and felt only a little guilty about it.

Sometimes I panic that I’m not doing everything my counterparts are doing. I’m not getting married or in a long term relationship (or any relationship for that matter) and I don’t intend to procreate. And most of all, I panic because I don’t feel like I need to do these things. I’m fast reaching the “shelf” so to speak and will be of unmarriageable age in four months (according to society at least). I also have seen friends who yearn for that special someone or who succumb to societal/parental pressure to get married or who use the phrase “my ovaries are exploding” at the sight of a cute baby/toddler. I am doing neither. I seem to be the happiest when I’m single; I love my unpredictable life with a whole world of opportunity, independence to be able to pick and choose what I want! I get into fights on Facebook because I fully support having rows on planes that are child free! Mostly though, on a daily basis, I love coming home to an empty house, playing music and dancing around. I want to travel for work and not have to think about anyone else (apart from my dog) and be able to say yes to all opportunities knocking on my door.

Let’s face it; I have about another 10-15 years of this kind of freedom, with no dependencies or obligations. I say 10-15 years because I’m pretty sure at 45, I’d like to have a steady job, a nice apartment, a dog and my mum living with me (mostly to dog sit while I work). But I think I would like the predictable, steady life.

Is it wrong? Is it okay to be happy and not stressed? Is it okay to be satisfied with life, because I’m finally in the place I’ve always dreamed of? A good career, great people to work with, fantastic bosses, amazing friends (who I love to death), doing decently financially, in a good place with familial relationships, opportunities to travel or not and most of all, a fantabulous, super-duper awesome doggie in my life. Is it wrong to say no, I don’t want this to change? I don’t want to add more variables into this? Maybe now I’m too practical, I’m very well informed of the pros and the cons of being in a relationship, or being a mother. Maybe I will change my mind later, like my mum says, Never Say Never. 

Yes, there are days where I wish I did have someone, but honestly, with full introspection, like 97% of the time, I don’t. Not in the way I’m like thank the universe I don’t have someone, but in the way that it doesn’t even occur to me to want to have that person.

I remember as a child, thinking at 30, I’d have a fabulous life with a career, a husband and 2 children (both girls and I have names ready too, yes, Buffy and Xena). 30 seemed so grown up and “settled” (how much I despise that word). Today, I try to convince my friends kids to refer to me as Romy (none of this aunty business because I jolly well don’t feel like one) and the good children in the building to call me Dolly didi and NOT Dolly aunty. Please no. I am not auntified. An aunty is someone who is put together, who cooks and cleans and runs after her kids, who balances relationships at home and at work, who irons clothes that she wears… I am that someone who wakes up and decides what to wear after my shower, who buys underwear because I have run out of them as I haven’t done laundry in the longest time, who laughs out loud and curses, who is not the least “put together”. I am someone who still fangirls and squeals and doesn’t know how to handle idiots. I’m that girl who still has MILES to go before she sleeps (the lists and lists in the numerous buckets!). Not that I don’t love sleep. I can sleep 16 hours of the day.

Am I ready to turn 30? With all the connotations to it? And don’t say stuff like age is just a number, or it only has what you apply to it or whatever. Yeah, if you live a hippy lifestyle in the forests, the deer and the trees don’t care if you’re 30 or 300. I live in society as an active and functioning member, and I will be judged. People will question and ponder and discuss my life and decisions at the water cooler at work or over tea and samosas with their neighbours/relatives. Because that’s what people do. They will wonder what is wrong with me as I’m 30 and not married. They will wonder why I’m so happy when obviously things are tragically not working out for me. They will give me advice to freeze my eggs in case I want children later in life. They will then whisper that I want children so badly, but because I have no husband, I consider my dog (oh the scandal) as my child. They will whisper of the many affairs I will allegedly have. They will say that the only reason I’m doing well is because I have no husband or children. They will call me a ball busting bitch and say it’s because I don’t have a man in my life to teach me my place. They will say no man wants me because I’m such a ball busting bitch. They will feel sorry for my mother and grandmother because I’m so obviously dashing their hopes and dreams for me (let us all forget that all a parent wants is for their child to be happy and healthy at the end of the day).

They will feel envious when I call my boss from the Andamans and tell him I’m not coming in today. They will feel envious when I leave early to go see a play with my boss (not realising that they can also). They will feel envious when I go out drinking with my friends and have no one to answer to. They will feel envious when I book my trip to see the Northern Lights in Iceland while they save to pay for their children’s school. They will feel envious when I post pictures of my dog and me on the beach with not a care in the world. They will be envious when I get a promotion. They will be envious when I post photos of me at my best friend’s wedding, being truly happy for them.

They will be so busy looking at my life, not knowing that they have a kick ass life themselves, only that it’s different from mine. They will not understand that I am missing out on the joy of watching a human being learn and grow, of always having a partner to go for a movie with, of never being alone, of having someone in your corner all the time, of having someone to blame (for not paying the electricity bill or to say they are sick so I need a day off), of having someone take care of you when you need it. I am missing out. On these and a whole lot more.

The only difference between me and them is that I’m okay with it. I’m okay with missing out, because I choose to look at what I have and go with that instead. That I am making my own decisions (that I jolly well may regret later or change my mind on entirely and laugh and laugh at this blog post) but I will be content in the fact that these are currently MY decisions.

At the end of it, do I feel ready for 30? Do I feel ready to face society’s expectations of a 30 year old Tambram Indian girl? Do I feel ready to either live up to their expectations or not and be okay with it either way? I don’t know.

Right now though, I’m focused on the next thing on my bucket list of things to do in my twenties – visiting my friend in a foreign country.