Dear 30

Dear 30,

     I should have written this earlier because I'm only a few months to you now. I guess I was pondering on what to say. Since 20 had been long and full of expectations and disappointments, grief and failures that were meant to happen.

  I remember at sixteen, we were on top on the world, in our heads, we thought we had it all figured out. We knew what we wanted to be and nothing seemed impossible, nothing could change the dream. Sixteen was like the safe zone, still getting fed with milk. We knew how to rock first days of school, it was with prices over our parent's budgets. We went to school, not in range rovers but in range of new sneakers and hair bows. So it was fun.

   We stared at twenty, wishing it would come faster so we'd run out of father's house. It came along with something we weren't prepared for, failure. We could have asked the grown ups what it meant to be twenty but we were too eager to find out, so we left before they could say "children, it's the beginning of one end."

They said the best way to be successful was to follow a tread, get the degree and blah blah blah (who made school a norm anyway?). We followed and came to a dead-end. Should have listened to the grown ups when they said "pay attention to your heart, it changes". Some of us had it good, life happened at different paces, some were lucky to make it out. But the unlucky few had bigger dreams and the top was too scary to climb, so when the wind came blowing, we fell.

Our perfect plans fell through, and when we fell it wasn't into a better situation. There were things these grown-ups never said about growing up, at first we thought it was our fathers enemies, but we soon learnt it was just life. These weren't simple mistakes that happened at sixteen or nineteen, these were mistakes with hard consequences. 

Mother's frail hands could have rubbed my back and she could have said, "it's okay to fall sometimes". But she was far away, fussing over her grandchild. 

I wish I spared some time to go home, one advice or two could have worked.

At twenty three, two years before graduation. I failed my courses in architecture and decided to drop out. Didn't see that coming, but it happened, I probably would have found myself teaching some kids in a school beside my home or drawing fake house designs for clients anyway.

We should have asked the grown ups how they made it through these rough years, did their boat ever sink? Now they seem to be busy watching us as we struggle to stand, "they'll figure it out." But isn't it better if they just give us a hand or tell us which leg to lift first?

Sigh.

Well, it's only a few months to thirty and I'm not where my 16-year old self planned to be, but I've got matured brains now. The only flaw in our perfect plan was leaving out the part where life happens.

I wish I would come in here with the dreams I had, but the years have made lots of changes and all I see now is a next step, not a plan.

We heard stories of how people fantasize about the destination, forgetting the hurdles and breaking points. We practically made the stories, because when we fell, we fell hard, breaking every bone which happened to be our spirits. 

I'm learning to walk again, not on chances, not with a perfect plan or a bird in hand but with a next step. Steps are meant to lead somewhere, might be heaven or hell, but we know when the steps leads to hell beause it's supposed to creak. And when we fall, there's always a next step too, I've learnt. Getting back up is a next step.

 I once heard a man say, "Sometimes we fall because we run too fast, and we can't hear the Creator saying, "slow down child, you're going too fast." 

I've also learnt that failing is growing not weakness. Trying again is hoping, not insanity. Winning is result, not wishes. Plans are words and words are winds. 

It's safe to say I've got everything I need to live through 30 but I've also leant, life is everywhere, and there are no safe zones.

So, 30, you're welcome! But there're no plans made for you, if you find me sitting on a couch and stuffing food in my face, don't bug me until there's a next step.

Sigh.