A birthday gone by..

This one’s been in my draft the day after I turned 30, on June 4th (here I admit my age!!).

I made no plans with friends this birthday. I somehow thought that getting to this number required me to sober down so I didn’t go out anywhere, that and plus it was a Monday.

I was hoping that hitting this age would miraculously change things for me. I would calm down, be less restless, not lose my temper at every little thing, be more in control of the situation, act more sensible, behave mature, carry myself with more elegance and poise (rather than my shambled self), stop dressing in denims and tees to work or rather shorts and tees more often than not, stop pining over things I can never have, shop less, save more; the list is endless.

I assumed that I would wake up the next day to my better self and it would be like enlightment the Buddha way. But none of that happened!!

I am still how I was, still care about people’s opinions of me that I would never admit, still feel bad about being rude to anybody and doing a pitiful job of trying to make up; still addicted to romance and mush without frills, still miss love from my life and still make mistakes that I always have. My dressing has not under gone any change and so haven’t my shopping habits; my family still rules over everything else and I am still not willing to succumb to the pressure of getting married until I find the right person for me, even at the cost of being called choosy/ rigid and what not.

Some things never change, never will and then I have to live upto my reputation of being stubborn..

As mothers will be mothers..

It is surprising how people who don’t know you at all, have never met you, know all about you. My parents have been going to every astrologer possible in the hope that they’ll tell them something about my future and came across this guy who’s caused my mother worry.

He told her that I keep things to myself, that no matter how worried or upset I am about anything, I will not talk about with it; and weirdly, that’s how I am. I just don’t discuss my most aggravating problems with anybody (mostly), I simply cocoon myself till I am able to cope with the situation and then that’s it. It is not that I don’t want to, but I think unless somebody is able to find a solution, there just seems no point. And then I have this space where I can write about things and get the sort of contentment that talking does not provide.

I think it is also a sort of self preservation mechanism, when I discuss anything, it just seems more real and pretending that the problem does not exist is an easier and maybe even an escapist way of dealing with things.

On the hindsight, it has caused my mother worry. Now I get a call every night and whenever I sound even faintly non chirpy (which is usual since I am dead tired after work), the conclusion is drawn that I am worried about something and hiding it. And since mothers will always be mothers, our conversations begin and end with her asking me consistently what’s bothering me and quoting me the astrologer every time I answer saying nothing..