Trenta

30 years, now what? I have now officially entered my twink death. I have 5 years left before being required to take a Barium test to check the health of my colon. My health app changed the metrics of my cardio health; I’m now in the above-average range coming from below-average just a few days ago. I have now been in Japan for almost a third of my life.

My dad had me when he was 30. I turned 30 and one of my plants almost died because I left it without water for three weeks. A parallel I’d like to print to show my grandma next time she asks when I’m going to have children.

It doesn’t really feel any different if I’m being honest. The pandemic really helped a lot of us enter a state of forced aging. I had just turned 26 when it all started and now, we’re here, trapped in this blip that was once unimaginable when I first saw End Game.

A year ago, I was positive I had everything under control. For the most part of 2023, that was true: I was in a healthy, stable relationship with someone, I felt closest to my family, and I achieved things I’ve always wanted to do, and more.

I have this perpetual longing to solve the unknown. I dislike being in the shadows of things happening to me and around me. Uncertainty gives me discomfort. Having the syllabus to everything in my life is akin to having control and I like control. Control is my safe, resting space.

Last year came as a surprise because it’s when I realized that I wasn’t, in fact, in control. Ending the year with most of my best friends moving away and a break-up was not a controlled setup. It also didn’t help that I was in Manila when I turned 30, and I was really, really loving my life there. It was the first time I didn’t feel like a stranger in my own country. The looming idea of finally moving back was definitely on steroids.

5 years ago, these things would have been way too devastating, and would have required therapy. I think I may have spent the last 5 years preparing myself for these losses (and frustrations) and while it was sad, there is guilt that I didn’t really feel the need to recover. For most of it, I was fine. Even with the impending unknown of turning 30, I was prepared.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying that I have finally figured out what I want to do with my life — no one really does, even after every 10-year check point. While the path in front of me is still long and unknown, I have a feeling I am holding a map and a record of all the things to avoid. I now, in full confidence, know what I don’t like. I now avoid things that make me unhappy. Or things that make me feel like a lesser version of myself.

I now understand where I stand in most things, and how to adapt when needed without losing myself in the process. If any, the best part of turning 30 is that I now truly understand myself. There’s still a lot more to know but I’m as excited.

I wanted this to be a sappy happy big old 30 kind of essay, but if I did that, I would just be setting myself up for expectations that I will not meet. Being content is an exaggeration and a lie, but, for now, accepting things is the closest I could have. That it’s all the preparation I need: I know things I want, and I know things I don’t want. Right now, that’s more than enough to start this new decade ahead of me.

This isn’t a self pat in the back or a gold star for surviving 2023, but as a challenge to do more. I might have survived the last 30 years, but I’d like to believe, and put into writing, that I’m just getting started.