Thursday, October 10, 2013


So I turned 30. finally. After dreading it for no less than 3 years. Yup, ever since I turned 27, thirty has loomed evil on the horizon with sinister red clouds and grey hair. A million 'I told you so-s' and 'where are you headed' hung thick in the air. Oh so much dread and fear and false starts. Not to mention the lies and rumours and the shakes of the heads every time I featured in conversations. So with all that going, I thought turning 30 would be marked by events that often accompany an apocalypse in an apocalypse movie.
I believed that my age would faithfully follow me everywhere, like the Hutch dog. To begin with, I thought my body would be the first Judas. I thought that overnight I would turn into a 30-but-not-married monster. They had me believe that not being married by 30 would have severe consequences. Like becoming a national symbol for shame or the ambassador of family embarrassment. The poster girl of difficult daughters. An indelible black mark on the face of Correya family history. In fact, I thought that I would physically metamorphose into a black mark. I would be a walking, talking, singing, dancing, unmarried black mark. I thought I would have '30' branded on my forehead and every where I went, I would be greeted by large neon signs that would give my age and my dreadful unmarried status away. Oh, the shame! Oh, the dreadful, unlivable, unbelievable, skin-puckering, hair-singeing shame! I would be an age-fugitive. A veritable Jean Val Jean on a biological parole. I could run all I want, and it would be in vain. I would have no references to speak of. Not even the heavens would cast its eyes with mercy upon my ill countenance. I dreaded this for three whole years. Three years marked by the odd silver strand showing up uninvited at the debutante party of a brand new hairdo, copious panic, mundane pondering of the where-is-my-life-going variety (so sameold, sameold!), new and unexpectedly exciting incidents and the furtive shadows of men whom society would have approved of as suitable life partners for me. 
Then I turned thirty. And, nothing! No remarkable changes. None to speak of. No helicopters whirring overhead, following me with a spotlight and a loudspeaker - "Give it up missy! Come out with your left hand out, so that some nice boy might put a wedding ring on your finger and thereby, you in your rightful place." I didn't grow an extra nose or eye or mouth. I didn't turn into a bent old hag overnight. I'm not senile. Yet. I haven't encountered any burning bushes that intimated any sort of wrathful correspondence from my Maker - "You anomaly, you!". My age didn't get announced on the 6 o' clock breaking news. After years of dreading the uh-oh of the big three-oh, it turned out to be more of a ho-hum! So much that I almost feel cheated. I didn't even get to have a party - thanks to a stupid party pooper of a cold. I'm just left with the realisation that I'm finally here. That I'm still standing. That though I might not have my entire life ahead of me, I still have the rest of it to call my own. And that's something to look forward to. 

1 comment:

Lucky said...

hahaha! happy thirty!