When I was young(er), I used to think that people who were in their 30’s or 40’s were already old.
I grew up in the generation where the young ones realize and acknowledge the authority of elders, may they be parents, aunts or uncles, or parents’ friends. As a teenager, I was close to my aunts, we tell stories and we laugh a lot, but never did I see them as my equal. They were always “up there.” They were older and I gave them all the respect that they deserved. Though honestly, there were times when I didn’t want to hang out with them because it felt “uncool” hanging out with older people…
I was never really close to my mom when I was growing up because she was more of a figure of authority than anything else. I followed and obeyed. I never saw her as a “friend.” Provider, yes. Parent, yes. But, buddy? Chum? Friend?! As Tyra Banks would have said it, “Hell to the no!”
Besides, the age gap made it difficult for me to see her differently. My parents — and their siblings — will always be older. When I was a teenager, I had this thinking that they were already ancient. Gosh.
I am in my late thirties now. To be more precise, I am pushing forty. Just saying that is making my heart palpitate. In my young self’s eyes, I AM ANCIENT! Panic time. Gulp. I. can’t. breathe. too. well.
Thinking about it, I don’t feel too different. I mean, I feel like I’m the same ME that I was as a teenager. I have the same friends… I dislike the same people (oh, grow up, girl!)… I still like the colors pink and purple and all shades of violet… I still like the same kind of music — or at least, I still DON’T like the heavy metal kind (gives me headaches), while classical music still makes me sleep… I am still conscious of my weight — like I have been when I was infact 20lbs lighter… I still think my arms and thighs are big…
So, maybe I have matured a bit. Maybe I look at life differently now, meaning I am not after the drama anymore. I don’t get stressed easily now… though come to think of it, I was never really the ‘easily-stressed’ type. I know for a fact that my personal experiences, both good and bad, have shaped me into who I am today… But somehow, for some reason, I still FEEL like I am the same person — same girl– that I was years back. Twenty or so years back, to be precise.
I don’t really feel old. Or ancient. I am in my late thirties, but I feel young. I am the same Me that I have always been.
Now I realize that 30 or 40 is NOT old or ancient. Gosh, I’m taking back the perception I had of my aunts when I was young. I am there now… and I wouldn’t want my son or my son’s friends to think that I am not cool because I an older.
Age is JUST a number. It’s who you are inside that truly matters in the end.
Uhm, can you please remind me of all these before I actually turn forty… In case, you know, I start panicking and begin having my midlife crisis… Sigh…
Maybe it’s about time that I accept — and admit– my real age.
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photo via google images