I am turning _ _ this year. Geesh, I can’t even say the magic number.
My birthday won’t be ’til the last month of the year, but for some reason, I can’t help but dread it. I know, I know… we should be thankful for all the days that we are blessed with. In fact I am grateful. I truly am.
I also know that wisdom comes with age. The older we get, the more experiences we have, and the wiser we become. Ideally, that is.
Why then am I not rejoicing nor broadcasting to the world that I am turning so and so years old? Shouldn’t I be proud of my age? Am I not happy with what I have become?
When I was young(er), I used to think my aunts and my parents were ancient. At my age now, I’ll die if my son’s friends would think I’m ancient. I will probably ban them from entering my house forever.
A lot of times I still feel like a little girl — okay, maybe not so little, but I do still feel like a young girl inside. I still like watching girly-girl shows. I still have movie star crushes. I still like to giggle and play tricks on people. I still read trashy novels, watch feel good movies. I can be so juvenile.
It’s when I have to make decisions for the family that I get to remember that oh, yeah, I am an adult. I have to have good replies to my son’s questions… I have to be firm and consistent with my decisions and I need to be a good role model to the kids who look up to me. I cannot keep on running to my parents for help. Lest I forget, I am now the parent of someone. I have to have my own answers.
Getting old is scary.
I am a vain person. My family and friends know that. I take extra care of my appearance… I can take long hours in front of the mirror primping myself (and not get tired). I spend a lavish amount of money on moisturizers, lotions, eyecreams and the works. One of my biggest fears is looking old and wrinkled.
Lately I have been obsessing about that, too. The fine lines under my eyes that I never noticed before just seemed to have magnified overnight. I am getting more and more conscious of what gravity is doing to my skin, to my body. And the more conscious I get, the more expensive my beauty regimen becomes.
I am old and shallow. Now I feel worse.
Age is just a number. I have heard people saying that time and again. I even blogged about that before (in my other site).
Deep down I know that getting old is not a bad thing. We will all get old anyway and there’s no defying that… unless we die young (which is a morbid thought). I know I’d rather grow old and experience lots and lots of things.
I also know that birthdays signify beginnings. It shows us a promise of better days to come. The past is over and done with — nice to remember and learn from, but the future is waiting for you to discover and learn yet more things.
Maybe I should celebrate my turning _ _. Maybe I should change my perspective and be excited about it… Show the world that I have reached this age (looking ten years younger.. haha) proud of what I have become, and expectant of more that is to come.
Perhaps I should bear in mind that life begins when you actually start living it.
Postscript: I cannot promise that you won’t hear any more whining from me from now until December regarding my age issues. Apologizing now. Please bear with me 🙂
photos via google images