It’s the third decade. I’m not sure if things would look as good if I were to do the oft citied once-in-a-decade analysis of my life. The year 30 is stalked by a strange after-sound to it. The after-sound flashes diverse images in front of me. I wasn’t worried or scared about turning 30. For whatever it’s worth the darn thing sound more exciting than scary. From the sound of it I feel as if I were describing a roller-coaster ride more than my 30th birthday.
Many of my friends are elder to me by a few years. For all practical purposes I was always thought of to be a mature kind of guy so it was unabashedly assumed that I was always 30! Hell a friend of mine, who turned 34 a few days ago, refused to believe that I was four years younger to her. One of my ex-girlfriends didn’t know if I were 26 or 27 or 28 while we were dating. I always told people different ages. It depended on the situation it was asked. During my first film, the second AD changed the way she spoke to me as soon as she realized that I was a few years younger than her. You could cut the difference between the before and after with a samurai sword!
I don’t think too much of this decade obsession with age. I was more excited when I turned 28 as it had a nice ring to it. It helped that 28 also happens to be a nice round number. So what’s with people asking me what my plans are for the big day? Is that because they feel I might have forgotten that I’m turning 30. Hell no! My hair started graying in my early 20’s (or was it my mid 20’s) so most people assumed that I was old ‘enough’. Thanks to a lifelong regimented upbringing as an army child I walked hand in hand with formality and conformity. I broke the conformity by not doing what the other Army parents had planned for me. I was done with formality a little earlier when I refused to wear a tie all through my final year at school. Couple this with a fondness for sneakers; add a fascination with Superman and I’m not surprised that people think I might have forgotten my age.
Pressurized by one and all I decided to take the test and see how my life has fared up until now. Now would mean 29 years, 11 months and 29 days.
Hmm.
It’s not all that bad. I am doing what I want to do. I get paid for doing something I enjoy. I chain smoked and already quit before I turned 28. I almost got married.
Is it really not all that bad?
Double hmm…
The real thing here is that it isn’t the age that has ever bothered me. It’s the way time flies which makes me think one could have packed in more. I mean I could have done so much more. I have wasted as much time as I utilized. But then everyone could do a wee bit more. I get paid nearly half of what is due and that too usually much later. I don’t know…this isn’t turning out the way I had imagined.
The third hmm...
Many of my friends are elder to me by a few years. For all practical purposes I was always thought of to be a mature kind of guy so it was unabashedly assumed that I was always 30! Hell a friend of mine, who turned 34 a few days ago, refused to believe that I was four years younger to her. One of my ex-girlfriends didn’t know if I were 26 or 27 or 28 while we were dating. I always told people different ages. It depended on the situation it was asked. During my first film, the second AD changed the way she spoke to me as soon as she realized that I was a few years younger than her. You could cut the difference between the before and after with a samurai sword!
I don’t think too much of this decade obsession with age. I was more excited when I turned 28 as it had a nice ring to it. It helped that 28 also happens to be a nice round number. So what’s with people asking me what my plans are for the big day? Is that because they feel I might have forgotten that I’m turning 30. Hell no! My hair started graying in my early 20’s (or was it my mid 20’s) so most people assumed that I was old ‘enough’. Thanks to a lifelong regimented upbringing as an army child I walked hand in hand with formality and conformity. I broke the conformity by not doing what the other Army parents had planned for me. I was done with formality a little earlier when I refused to wear a tie all through my final year at school. Couple this with a fondness for sneakers; add a fascination with Superman and I’m not surprised that people think I might have forgotten my age.
Pressurized by one and all I decided to take the test and see how my life has fared up until now. Now would mean 29 years, 11 months and 29 days.
Hmm.
It’s not all that bad. I am doing what I want to do. I get paid for doing something I enjoy. I chain smoked and already quit before I turned 28. I almost got married.
Is it really not all that bad?
Double hmm…
The real thing here is that it isn’t the age that has ever bothered me. It’s the way time flies which makes me think one could have packed in more. I mean I could have done so much more. I have wasted as much time as I utilized. But then everyone could do a wee bit more. I get paid nearly half of what is due and that too usually much later. I don’t know…this isn’t turning out the way I had imagined.
The third hmm...
1 Responses to “The Third”
It feels as if you're no longer a person but a bottle of scotch judged only by the years you've spent in the barrel.
I suppose those who do turn like that dont deserve our time.
So lets leave it at that.
Happy 30th!
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