In three months I am turning 28 years old. This is apparently a big deal, or so says everyone around me, and I am feeling a lot of pressure to celebrate it as such. But for some reason, I can’t really get worked up about it—either in a positive or negative way—and I don’t think that’s such a bad thing.
Last year I made a big stink out of my 27th birthday. I spent my whole Birthday slogging in my office like butt off. I was hoping a birthday party with everyone I could possibly think of invited. And then I had a late night birthday dinner with my family (which incidentally includes me & my bro coz both were working late ….so late dinner). I worked late that day because I knew I might be crippled with depression otherwise if a had a day off. After all, my only boyfriend had just forgotten my birthday and was no longer interested in going to be the one whom I can get married and started thinking about having kids. I was back to square one and I desperately wanted to distract myself from thinking about that with the help of a little pseudo celebration. And no celebration... It sort of worked.
This year is different. 28 is a fairly epic birthday for me as it’s the start of a new chapter in my life, one that will likely feature all those “getting older” milestones of marriage (if I decide I want to, that is), kids, and career advancements. Some people find this scary because they think it signifies the end of a fun, fancy-free youth filled with boozing and boning and that they’re oh-so-much closer to death. As a result, I think a lot of people go balls out on their birthday celebrations as a way of telling themselves and anyone who will listen that they’re still alive and kicking, and having a great time of it, dammit! Kind of like I will do on my 28th birthday, only to prove everyone, including myself, that despite getting left by my boyfriends and not knowing what in the hell the next stage of my life was going to be—because that was seriously frightening to me—I was going to be OK.
Three months away from turning 28, I feel great about where my life is. I have an awesome group of friends and cousins who really proved how supportive they could be in the last year. My family is there for me & supports my decisions. I’m healthy and, most of all, I’m happy. I have a wonderful family, a great cousin, and the best—if exhausting—job a person could ask for. I want to meet someone new who, at the very least, would make me realize that I can feel strongly for someone again. And Sachin Tendulkar playing again for World Cup! How can I not be content?
I don’t feel the need or the desire to make a big deal out of turning 28, because it seems so inconsequential in comparison to the changes that have occurred in my life over the last year. I don’t feel depressed about being another year older, but I also don’t have a desire to make a big stink about what a fabulous 28-year-old Single, Not married I’m going to be. Basically, I think I’m going to treat 28 the way I would treat any other birthday—I’ll put on a fun dress, have dinner with my friends, drink myself stupid at a bar, and then tuck myself in, content with not knowing what is going to happen next.
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