Thirty years and two suitcases

Everything you’ve said really happens, life began in 1993 and continues

I thought of this text minutes before I fell asleep, on a Sunday night that easily registered 28ºC, reflected in the giant sensation of heat and discomfort in a room that houses a double bed, a closet that’s enough for me, a desk that’s hardly used for studying and a bookcase that I refuse to fill with works that are perfect for occupying empty spaces. It’s a temporary room.

In the restlessness and discomfort caused by the heat, waiting for sleep to come, the mind is dominated by anxious thoughts about life. And far from the perfect feeds, the filters that leave us incredibly designed, life is not adjusted. On the contrary! It’s made up of setbacks, doubts about careers and past choices that shape the present. Solitude is sometimes chased away and loneliness takes over. There are days when the heroine gets out of bed determined to conquer the world, but she goes to bed defeated, her back hurts and her heart aches.

About to turn 30, the age of success, as many people try to convince me, I sometimes stop and find it hard to believe the design of these two numbers. I look in the mirror and try to understand where that age is. Is it reflected in my facial expressions or in the pressure to succeed? As a woman, my body feels very different, and although the change has come slowly over the years, I’ve only felt the sharp turn in the last 12 months. The body slows down, it’s not just any food at any time. High doses of carbohydrates after 8pm? Heartburn and bloating for sure! Going out? only at reasonable times. Parties? Let’s have a coffee in the evening, shall we?

I don’t feel bad for my age and on reflection I feel very good. Better than I’ve ever been, I’d say. I was so insecure in my 20s. And no, I’m not super confident. I have crises and lots of drama. However, today I’m aware of my pains and I try to treat them, and I’m not talking about the physical ones. The last decade has been chaotic, a mixture of “I hate my body”, “My thoughts are useless and I’ll die alone”. And if someone said: “with time, everything gets better and better” I would roll my eyes, but it’s the purest truth. I’ve learned to respect my body, my limits and I’m open to meeting someone, but I’m not going to paralyze my life in search of a prince (!?), I’m going to live, and if he shows up, great! If not, we’ll deal with it in therapy.

I’ve lived a lot so far and I’ll only stop when the time comes. The age of 30 doesn’t and shouldn’t demand more than two suitcases, maybe an apartment or a car would be nice, but they’re projects for the next decade. I’ve made a lot of dreams come true, I’ve cried over unrequited love — oh, if you love someone, tell them (but that’s a subject for another chronicle, but reaching 30 has taught me about that too) — I’m frustrated by various projects that haven’t made it off the diary page. I don’t look or feel old. I’m fine with myself. My two suitcases and I still have a lot of miles to go, but at least the suitcases have wheels.